Mutiny Below
by TVIsMyDrug4
Summary: AU - When Clare Edwards needs a job, she finds one being the assistant for TV actor Elijah Goldsworthy. Worst summary ever, I'm usually better at them! DISCONTINUED! (I know, I suck!)
1. Get A Job

**Hello everyone! I've been working on this for awhile, got alot of it done so it might come quick. Please leave a review, constructive criticism is always appreciated, and anything else you have to add! Hope you enjoy!**

**Twitter: TVIsMyDrug4**

**Warning: There is a reason it is rated M, so you are warned.**

**Disclaimer: I don't even own a car, it got repo'd! So no I do not own, Degrassi, the characters, or the story and chapter titles those are rightfully owned by Ludo and The Offspring! Peace!**

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**Mutiny Below**

I

I got the job! I am now the assistant of TV actor Elijah Goldsworthy, star of the popular TV show '_Minglers_. I'm assuming the agency feels I can handle the incredibly mind-wobbling responsibility of this job: make him coffee, pick up his dry-cleaning, and, more importantly, pay his bills and run his errands. You can envy me now, girls!

This is by no means my dream job. I was hoping to become a journalist. I want my career to be based on the entertainment industry, but instead of doing menial work for a spoiled actor, I was hoping to write intelligent articles and documentaries on celebrities. I majored in English at NYU and have had a bachelor's degree for a year now, but I haven't been able to find a job in that field. To think I thought moving to New York would make it easier!

My friend, Alli, was the one who told me about this job. I have no idea how she knew about an opening for an actor's assistant, but she insisted that I should send a résumé to the agency. After several interviews I got hired.

I'm tired of doing jobs that don't appeal to me. Ever since I graduated from NYU, I've had one dull job after another. I was a waitress, librarian, a customer service representative for the_ New York Times_, and now, Elijah Goldsworthy's assistant. At least this new job sounds a bit more interesting than the previous ones. Nevertheless, it is not good enough. These jobs are an insult to my intelligence. I deserve better.

I guess I should be excited about meeting Elijah Goldsworthy. I watch '_Minglers' _sometimes. It's a surprisingly well-written sitcom about seven 20-something-year-olds from Manhattan that basically whine about relationships and party on every episode. There are four girls and three guys. Elijah Goldsworthy is one of the guys. He's known as the funniest one of the group, and yet the darkest. Perhaps I should have been a cast member, but no, I'm not attractive enough. (All of the stars of the sitcom are drop-dead gorgeous, by the way.)

What I hate about the show is that the characters live in unrealistically large apartments that would cost the average New Yorker about thirty-five hundred dollars a month to live there. In TV world, however, a waitress and a secretary could afford it. I live in a tiny rent-controlled studio apartment on the Upper West Side that costs eight hundred dollars a month—rent-stabilized, of course. The studio consists of a living room-slash-bedroom, a small kitchen and a bathroom. My living room-slash-bedroom is decorated with a futon, books, CDs, movies, TV, stereo, and a night table. It's all crammed in like a sardine can. I am so glad I'm not claustrophobic.

After making sure I don't have a criminal record, the agency made me take an oath: that I, Clare Edwards, will never steal, lie, harm Mr. Goldsworthy, or sell any information to the press (the agency insists that celebrities should have trustworthy people working for them). Actually, I was forced to sign a rather legally binding contract. If I break any of the terms and conditions listed in the aforementioned contract, I would lose my job or possibly go to jail, depending on the crime. You'd think that I'm going to be working for the President of the United States or something.

I'm going to meet Elijah on Monday. Today is Friday.

I agreed to meet my friends, Adam and Alli tonight at a bar in SoHo. They can't wait to hear the wonderful news about my new and pseudo-exciting job.

Its 8:25 p.m. Alli and Adam still haven't arrived. I'm on my third Cosmopolitan.

They finally arrive. Alli looks as beautiful as always, with her long straightened black hair. She's wearing a pink turtleneck sweater with matching pink pantyhose and a black, short skirt. Adam is wearing a dark green shirt, tie, and black trousers. He must've just gotten out of work.

"Sorry we're late," Alli says while sitting, "but I had to wait for Adam."

The waiter arrives and Alli orders a Cosmo like me, while Adam orders a beer.

Alli owns her own boutique, it was a slow start when she opened during college but it gradually became more popular with time, especially when her grandfather died and left her an inheritance, she's the only reason my wardrobe is up to par. Adam is handsome, and FTM Transgendered and the greatest guy anyone who'd ever know, he writes for the _New York Observer_. He tried to get me a job there, but, out of pride, I told him not to. We've all been friends since high school at Degrassi in Canada; somehow we all got accepted to NYU. We're all the same age. But they, unlike me, have successful careers. I sometimes hate them because of this.

"So? Let's hear it!" Adam says.

"I got the job," I say dully.

"You are so lucky," says Alli enthusiastically. "You'll be working for someone famous. It's so glamorous!"

"Glamorous, really? As if! And yeah, I'm very lucky. I am so lucky. I get to be an actor's maid."

"Lighten up! This could be a great opportunity for you. You become friends with this guy and he might hook you up with some connections," Adam says, taking a drink.

"I'm not counting on it," I say.

"I agree with Adam. This job will give you an inside look into the life of a celebrity. You can even write about him without him knowing it. Sort of like an undercover journalist assignment."

"Right, and betray this man's trust? I couldn't live with myself."

"Then journalism is the wrong profession for you," Adam says matter-of-factly. "Journalists succeed at other people's expense. Always remember that."

This conversation is upsetting me. I thought it would cheer me up to get together with my two best friends. Instead, they are reminding me of how much of a failure I am. I tell them this.

"You're not a failure!" says Adam. "God, you've just finished college. Give it time."

"Clare, you know we love you, right?" says Alli. "We just want to help you, that's all. This job is a big opportunity for you, and if _you_ don't take advantage of this, then _you_ are going to regret it."

"Okay. Whatever, let's change the subject," I say bitterly. "So Alli, how's your boyfriend? Does he still buy porno magazines and movies because you refuse to have sex with him?"

Adam chokes on his beer, Allis boyfriend is his brother, Drew.

"No," she mumbles.

"Excuse me?" Adam says with his eyes wide open. "How come neither of you told me about this before?" He's pretty protective of Alli and I, even when it comes to Drew who he openly admits that's his brother is a jackass even though they are siblings. IT's really a love-hate relationship.

"I thought Alli already told you," I lie. Alli had made me promise I wouldn't tell Adam.

Alli is silent. She's just sitting there, glaring at me. She's upset.

"_Hello!_" Adam says impatiently.

I know I'm in deep shit right now. I don't know why I blurted Alli's secret. Maybe deep down inside I resent her. She's never had to struggle in life. I should leave the café before she bursts into tears or something.

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	2. It's My Life

**Hello again, I figured I'd go ahead and update. This chapter gives you more of a background on Clare, bear with me this story is AU so not everyone is going to be completely in character, but I'll try my best! Anyways hope you enjoy!**

**Warning: This is still rated M for adult themes, so you are warned.**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Degrassi or the Bon Jovi song this chapter is named after, or the Ludo song the story is named after! I do however own a collection of Magic The Gathering cards, yes I'm that nerdy!**

**Peace!**

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**II**

Once I got home, I checked my messages on my answering machine. The first message is from my mother; the second one is from my ex-boyfriend, KC.

_"Clare, it's me, KC. I want to know if you'd like to go out with me next Friday to a party. My company's throwing a soiree and I'm supposed to bring a date with me but since I'm not seeing anybody . . . I thought I might call you. Please call soon and let me know if you're interested. Ciao."_

Ha! I cannot believe this. I dated KC for two months, and all he ever did was cheat on me. I caught him in the act—he was having sex with my (former) friend Jenna at his apartment. He has the nerve to call me after six months, inviting me to some party like it's no big deal. What is wrong with this picture?

I have had my share of bad relationships. KC was my last boyfriend. I have decided to concentrate on my career before I become involved with someone again. Concentrating on my career is a good excuse not to date. Every time someone asks me if I have a boyfriend, my usual response is this: "All men do is distract you. When people fall in love, they become needy and forget about everything else that should be more important in their lives. Why waste my time that way? I would much rather work for my dreams than waste my time with some guy."

I don't think I'm fooling anyone with that self-righteous nonsense. The truth of the matter is that sometimes I wish I had a boyfriend. I do believe in what I say—although sometimes loneliness creeps in as if from nowhere.

During the last several years I have had some pretty _bad_ boyfriends. (Note the emphasis on the word _bad_.)

There was Owen: the guy who, during sex, made a countdown before he came. It was so annoying. It felt like New Year's Eve. This is how he came:

"Nine . . . Eight . . . Seven . . . Six . . . Five . . . Four . . . Three . . . Two . . . One . . . GAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"

It happened every time we had sex.

I dumped him.

I wonder if he still does it.

Then there was Blue—or as I came to call him: Mr. Mirror Man. He had a mirror placed on the ceiling above his bed and another one on the headboard. He concentrated more intensely on the mirrors than on me.

I dumped him.

He is now a porn star.

And before KC and after Blue, there was Wesley. Wesley was a cute, charming, and very smart man from England. I met him during a lecture at NYU. He was a legal aid lawyer in Canada and a notary in New York. He was taking courses in American Law at NYU. He treated me with respect and never once tried to touch me. (He told me that his mother taught him that women should be treated with the utmost respect.)

Wesley was a great boyfriend. He was the only good boyfriend I've ever had. We went out for walks or sat on the grass and talk. He kissed me passionately, and the way he made love to me was brilliant. His touch was filled with such sweet tenderness that I often cried afterwards; he gave me the kind of special treatment that I'd never been bestowed upon before. I was certain that he was the one for me, and after two months of dating, I knew I was going to fall in love with him. But fate didn't allow it. Wesley got hit by a car while crossing the street in his neighborhood. He died en route to the hospital. I was devastated when I heard the news. I grieved his death for many months after the accident.

I don't think I'll ever meet another Wesley again.

I didn't date Wesley long enough to fall in love with him. In fact, I have never been in love. Everyone tells me that since I'm twenty-four years old, I should be in love already, or at least should have experienced a first love. But I haven't. No first love, not any kind of love. Sometimes I wonder that if I ever fall in love, will he love me. Now that I think about it, I've probably been reluctant to fall in love. I've been too afraid to suffer because of it.

I'll hold on to my "career before love" philosophy for now. It seems like the right thing to do since my career prospects are in a state of coma and I should at least try to bring them back to life.

My mother's message was the usual one: Why haven't you called? It's been two days since you've called me. Why are you so distant? Darcy isn't as distant as you are, and she's in Africa! Do you have a boyfriend yet? I want you to come home and visit me one of these weekends! Please call me back.

I'm the worst daughter in the world if I don't call her every single day, according to mom. My parents are overprotective; it only got worse after their divorce it seemed. They also can't seem to get it through their head that I'm not their 'good little Christian girl wearing a purity ring' anymore. One time when Dad came to visit we were walking around the city, and he held my hand whenever we'd cross a street. I told him, "Dad, don't hold my hand! I'm not a kid anymore!" He then looks at me dreamily and says, "You will always be a little girl in my eyes." I want to gag every time he gets sentimental on me.

I also hate it when my mother comes down to visit. She would look around the apartment and run her fingers on the furniture, checking for dust. Although I clean the place thoroughly before she arrives, she always finds dust. She would search the whole place until she finds it. I swear the woman detects dirt from a mile away. She always nags about my empty refrigerator. She would say, "Why is your refrigerator empty? You're twenty-four years old and you can't cook. Your sister learned to cook when she was ten years old!" I can cook, I just don't like to. She's always comparing me to Darcy; the real good daughter then turns to shake her head as if to say, "What happened to you Clare you used to be so put together."

Halfway through the visit, mom would then begin her usual criticism of me: mainly the fact that I don't have a boyfriend. I tell her my career before love speech. She doesn't buy it. "Nonsense," she often says. "You're not even close to having a career." I would thank her for reminding me of this. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, _Clare-Bear!_ We both know it's an excuse. You're unhappy and lonely. I would love to see you settle down already. I know that if you were in a relationship, you'd be happy and therefore feel motivated enough to go for your dreams."

I don't have the energy to endure that absurd interaction again. I will not call her back, at least not anytime soon.

My apartment is surprisingly clean despite the tiny space. Books neatly on the shelves, CDs on their racks, movies and DVDs inside the cabinets, and the futon closed. The kitchen is also clean. The refrigerator, as mom often points out, is always empty. The only thing I have in the fridge is a gallon of water, and a gallon of milk for my cereal collection. I'm rarely ever home as it is and when I am, I eat cereal when I get hungry; it helps me stay in shape really. When I'm really in a mood I'll bake and binge. The place is small, but comfortable enough to fit just one person. Even though I'd love to have a bigger place, this would do for now.

I just called Alli and apologized for my behavior at the café. She reluctantly accepted my apology.

I have no idea what to expect at my new job. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be exposed to the celebrity lifestyle. I wonder if Adam and Alli are right about doing an undercover journalist assignment on Elijah Goldsworthy. I could watch him closely and take notes. I should also keep a journal. If he turns out to be the typical rich and famous asshole, it would make me feel less guilty.

I have no energy to think about it now. I'll just have to wait and see how things unfold once I start on Monday.

I should be thinking about the money that I'm going to be making with this new job. I'll be making lots of money, meaning I'll be able to rent a bigger apartment. I plan to decorate my new apartment with beautiful antique furniture. I've always been fascinated with art—I will decorate my walls with beautiful antique paintings. I can't wait.

I study my reflection in the mirror. Will Elijah find me attractive? Very doubtful, he dates gorgeous models and actresses. I have what you may call conventional beauty. I have light brown, sometimes reddish, chin-length straight hair, fair skin, blue eyes, and am slim, only five feet, two inches tall. I weigh about 110 pounds. I've been told that I'm attractive, but I'm not sure I believe it.

My only hope is that I won't be self-conscious around Elijah. He is absolutely gorgeous! He's got the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. He has dark brown almost black, longish hair. He's about 5 foot 6 inches tall and weighs around 125 pounds, with an athletic build. Most would say he's skinny but, an episode or 2 he's been without a shirt shows that he makes up for it very well. He's 25 years old. I've been told he's very charming, that women often fall for his charm and wit. I've also been told that he is quite eccentric. It doesn't matter, I already know he's off-limits, not only is he my boss, he is also—off-limits. He won't look at me twice. That's okay, though. I'm not one of those stupid women who fall for the first pretty face she sees. I've never been that weak.

As I continue to contemplate myself in the mirror, the ringing phone startles me. Unfortunately it's my mother.

"Hello, Clare-Bear! If I don't call you, you don't call me."

"We talk on the phone almost every day, mom."

"Yeah, if _I_ call _you_, you're too distant. How come you don't call _me_?" Here we go. "If I die, you're going to be the last to know."

I sigh. "Okay, mom. I'm sorry but I've been busy."

She continues: "Any boyfriends?"

"No," I say, annoyed.

"That's too bad. So, tell me, Clare, when was the last time you got laid?"

"Mom!"

I can't believe the way she talks to me sometimes. I didn't know mothers were even allowed to talk that way to their children. But that's my mother since the divorce, unpredictable. I think the divorce really messed up the conservative, good Christian woman that raised me. She never fails to surprise me. Her philosophy now is, you have to be straightforward with your children because that's how they learn. Tell it like it is, she says, no more holding back. She's a Freudian nightmare.

"Tell me. When was the last time you got laid?" she repeats.

I sigh.

She laughs.

"You know, I'm fifty-five years old. If you don't give me a grandchild soon, it will be too late."

I make no response.

She changes the subject. "So, when do you start this new job?"

"Monday."

"Good. You know, this might be a good opportunity for you. You'll be able to know this man on a personal level. You say you want to become a writer, or a journalist, or whatever, you should take advantage of this."

I sigh again. "Adam and Alli already gave me this lecture."

"Well, there you go."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you should listen to them."

"Well, I don't see it that way. Besides, for all I know, this man could be incredibly dull."

"No life of a famous actor is dull." She sounds so matter-of-fact about this.

"You don't know that," I say defensively.

"All I'm saying is, don't shut down this opportunity. Think of your career, your dreams. Honey, this could be a big opportunity for you. Please don't ruin it. Don't disappoint me."

"I won't," I murmur.

She continues her nagging: "Keep in mind that you're lonely. If only you had a boyfriend, you'd feel motivated and happy. I don't care what you modern girls say. Love equals happiness, period. Oh, and, sweetie, I want you to come up and spend the weekend here with me."

"Mom, I—"

"I won't take no for an answer. I know you're free this weekend, not having a boyfriend and all. You can drive up here tomorrow. I'll make you a nice dinner. And I want you to spend the night here; I was hoping we could go to church together on Sunday—" I have a car but rarely use it, I usually take the subway.

"Fine."

"Good," I suddenly hear voices in the background. It's the TV. She's watching Soap Net. "Okay, honey, I'm going to watch General Hospital now. Bye!"

She hangs up before I can say "bye" to her.

I should have screened that phone call. I can't believe the pressure everyone is putting on me. I don't think I have the courage to take advantage of this so-called opportunity. I mean, the agent specifically told me that if I do anything to betray Elijah's trust, I would lose my job. Even if I could write a good story on this man, who's going to publish it? I am unknown in the journalistic world.

I know my mother will be bugging me this whole entire weekend. I wish I could disappear. I've been very gloomy because of my lack of resourcefulness career-wise. I don't need people constantly reminding me that I'm a failure.

My sister Darcy has never disappointed my parents, other than posting naughty pictures on the internet and getting stalked by a creeper, getting raped and trying to kill herself she's been the model daughter, going to Africa in her senior year of high school and never turning back, helping the world. My parents divorced when I was 15 years old, but from what I'm told now had the worst marriage ever. My mother works for the community at home still, as well as still running functions for our church, if only they knew how much she's truly changed, but she keeps it within the family, mostly keeping me disturbed. My father is a lawyer he lives in Toronto as well with his new "eye-candy" girlfriend; he's still pretty uptight about most things, like never wanting me to grow up. They both think that I need to strive for more like Darcy, why must they have such high expectations of me? It's not fair!

I often hear my father say such wonderful things about me. "My daughter, Clare, is going to be a successful writer," he often says. "She's talented and she has vision. She's very intelligent. She attended NYU. She will make it."

The sad reality is that they do have high expectations and there's nothing I can do to change that. I can only pray that things work out at this new job. I don't know if I'm going to play the undercover reporter game and watch Elijah Goldsworthy like a hawk. All I know is that I start this new job on Monday and I want to be as stress-free about it as possible.

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**Please Review! Thanks!**


	3. Excuse Me Mr

**Hello everyone, thanks for all the reviews and alerts and what not! I'm trying to get some of this out of the way to get to the good stuff! Here's where Clare meets her new boss! Hope you all enjoy!**

**Warning: Still rated M don't read it if you cannot handle adult themes, language and content!**

**Disclaimer: I own it all, really, because the people that own it all really go and write fanfiction! Totally! Songs mentioned are Ludos, & No Doubts as well!**

**Peace!**

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**III**

Surprisingly enough, I survived my first five days working for Elijah Goldsworthy—star of the TV sitcom _'Minglers'._ The job is as glamorous and as exciting as I thought it would be. It is filled with fun and exhilarating moments that only menial labor is able to provide. I met Elijah on Monday after meeting with his agent. He coldly shook my hand and said, "Hello." without looking at me. He looked upset and edgy. He wasn't very nice to me.

On my first day at my new job, I got careful instructions from Elijah's agent on how to handle his personal responsibilities such as using his checkbook, his ATM's pin number, his permission to order items from catalogs using his name (ordering his items, of course), the address to the dry-cleaning place, and a Rolodex with the names of friends and celebrities to reach. I also learned how to forge his signature.

After the brief but thorough training, I was given the address to Elijah Goldsworthy's penthouse. The aforementioned penthouse was predictably located on Park Avenue.

That's where I met Elijah for the first time. There was a woman there, a very beautiful woman who looked as straight-faced and as cold as he did. Perhaps they were fighting and I caught them at a bad time—or maybe they wanted some privacy and I had disturbed them. It wasn't my fault. I was there to do my job.

He looked gorgeous in his black v-neck shirt and black skinny jeans. His chin-length brown hair looked slightly disheveled and his hands were in his pockets. He looked the way he does on TV, only darker and less silly. He quietly walked me into a room, which turned out to be his office and my new workstation. The office was simply furnished with a wood-finish desk with a computer and a phone on it; there was also a coffeemaker on a small table and there were three comfortable leather chairs. I put my handbag on the desk and sat awkwardly as Elijah gave me contact numbers for his lawyers and crewmembers. He was still treating me coldly. He left the office and went back to the beautiful woman whom I assumed was his girlfriend. They were talking but I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was my first day and was already feeling unwanted.

I didn't do much that day. I spent most of the time in the office, doing his bills. I made large checks for charities he regularly makes contributions to. I made coffee several times that day. I spent the majority of the day alone in his apartment. He went to his daily rehearsal for his TV show. He said he'd call me if he needed anything. I didn't dare to touch anything or even walk around the place. I only got to see the two living rooms and the kitchen. From what I saw, the place was predictably breathtaking and I was pleasantly surprised to see that he decorated one of the two living rooms with antique furniture. The main room had a gorgeous cherry wood coffee table, wine cellar, and a Victorian-style bookshelf (with plenty of books on it, practically a library it seemed, it was also filled with pictures of him with other celebrities and others with people whom I assumed were his family). The light green sofa and chairs felt soft and cozy (I only know this because I dared to sit in one of the chairs). The beige-colored walls were empty; there were no famous paintings or framed photographs. The living room had two Palladian windows that brightened the whole house. The ceiling was decorated with a gold and crystal chandelier. This living room was a contrast to the other one, which had a leather couch, a 50-inch TV, and other expensive gadgets. If only I could afford half of this stuff.

Elijah arrived home around six. He gave me a cell phone on which he could call and text me whenever he needs me. (He emphasized that only he could call me.) I went home. He didn't say have a nice evening or see you tomorrow.

I made it through the first day as his assistant. The job was easy. The job was an insult to my intelligence.

I got phone calls from friends and family that night. They all wanted to know about my first day. But they specifically wanted details about Elijah Goldsworthy: Is he as cute as he looks on TV? Is he as funny? Did you see his place? Did he talk to you? Did he tell any jokes? What was he wearing?

The questions were so lame that I wrote down my answers before they even called me. I lied and told them the answers that they wanted to hear. I didn't bother to tell them what really happened because I didn't want to talk about it. Only one question surprised me, and it came from my mother: Did you flirt with him?

My second day as Elijah's assistant was not very different from the first one. I spent most of the day in the office writing checks, ordering things, making coffee, and writing phone messages. And for extra fun, I took Elijah's clothes to the dry-cleaners.

Elijah came home around seven and told me to leave. He muttered, "Thanks for everything" before I left.

My third day was a bit different. I got to meet Mark Fitzgerald "Fitz" for short, Elijah's publicist. Fitz and Elijah walked into the office and Fitz hissed, "Do you mind?" at me. I assumed he meant that he wanted me to leave. I glanced over at Elijah, he nodded as if to say, "Do what he says." I left the room feeling like an intrusive bug.

I didn't like Fitz the moment I saw him. Also, the way he said, "Do you mind?" as though I were some nosy, paparazzi made him even less likeable in my eyes. What gave him the right to patronize me? He looked like the typical celebrity ass-kisser. He was very tall, thin and had short, brown hair and ice blue eyes. He was attractive, but his attitude did nothing to help him in my eyes. He seemed arrogant and shallow, even more so than Elijah.

I was sitting in a chair when I heard some arguing coming from inside the office. Something about getting publicity out of something for some movie—something like that. Elijah sounded upset.

When Fitz stepped out of the office, he glared at me for a moment and then left. Elijah motioned me back inside. He did this without looking at me.

I went home feeling low that day. I felt like an intruder, like someone uninvited, unwelcome. Celebrities get a real kick out of making everyone feel like a complete zero. Condescending, that's what they are! I may just be an assistant, but I'm by no means inferior.

I decided that night that if things didn't get any better by the end of the week, I'd quit.

Again, I received calls from my friends and family. I didn't want to answer the phone. I screened the calls.

On the fourth day I answered calls from women. They left absurd messages like, "Please, tell Elijah to call me. I'm Andrea, the girl he slept with four months ago at that nightclub in L.A. I think he'll remember me. I gave him a night to remember!" I also picked up his dry-cleaning and did his grocery shopping.

When he arrived home that night, he told me I had to be on the set of his TV show the next day at five p.m. He gave me a card with the address and an admission pass.

He didn't look at me that day either.

I went home and was still determined that if things didn't improve, I'd quit.

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**Why is Eli so cold? I mean WTF?**


	4. Friend of a Friend

**Thanks to all who have reviewed! This is kinda slow getting into but I promise it will get better, this chapter explains some things as well. Also remember please this is AU and the characters aren't necessarily going to be in character sometimes! Enjoy!**

**Rated M, just remember that.**

**Disclaimer: I own a new pair of glasses, nothing else. Chapter title is Foo Fighters and Story title is Ludo! **

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**IV**

It was finally the fifth day, Friday. I was on the set of his show. They were filming that night in front of a live studio audience. I spent most of the time in his dressing room, watching the taping of the show on a TV monitor.

They spent six painful hours filming a half-hour show. They had to repeat the scenes over and over again. The audience seemed happy to be there. They stared at the actors with awe-stricken expressions and laughed at every joke they said. I was bored. It was getting late. Elijah was still ignoring me. I was still determined to quit if things didn't change.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, a young woman approached me.

"Hi," she said. "Are you Elijah Goldsworthy's new assistant?"

"Uh, yes."

"Oh, great! My name is Holly J, I'm Declan Coyne's assistant." (Declan Coyne is one of the cast members of the show.)

"Nice to meet you," I said while shaking her hand. "My name is Clare Edwards."

"Nice to meet you too, Clare. Is it okay if we go out and talk after the show? There's a café a couple of blocks from here. I want to get to know you, if you don't mind."

Why was this woman so interested in talking to me? Even though I was tired and frustrated, I accepted the invitation.

We went to the café. After we each ordered a latte, we started talking.

"So, how do like the job so far?" she asked.

I shrugged and said, "It sucks."

She looked at me and smiled.

Holly J was very pretty. She had long red hair and light green eyes. She was wearing a navy blue sweater and black pants. She seemed likeable and easy to talk to. "You don't say!" she said sarcastically. "I know it sucks. But what do you find so bad about it? Isn't this your first week?"

"Yes, but the job's a little too simple."

"Well, yeah. You're right. This job is a no-brainer and sometimes a little demeaning. And you pretty much have a cell phone attached to your ear 24/7. But once you get used to it, you will see that there are many advantages to this job."

"Such as?"

"You get to go to places like The Rainbow Room, for instance. You also get to go to movie premieres, cast parties, fashion shows, even to other countries, like Paris or London. You also get to meet a lot of interesting people."

I have to admit that she did make it sound exciting. I would love to go to The Rainbow Room or to Paris or London. I hadn't thought of the glamorous lifestyle, and when I did, I thought it'd be great to be a part of it. But then I realized that that sort of thing never appealed to me, especially if I had to follow Elijah around.

"Well, I don't like Elijah Goldsworthy," I said stoically.

"Why?"

"Because he's…mean."

"Really? He's _mean_? I always thought he was nice. He seems like a nice guy."

I took a sip of my latte and said, "That's because you don't work for him."

"That's true. But he seems really nice. I've talked to him a few times and he always seemed quite friendly."

"Maybe it's me then. Maybe he doesn't like _me_."

"What makes you think that?

"I don't know. He's just so…UGH! I don't know."

"Don't you think you're being a little sensitive?"

I didn't answer.

"Relax, Clare. He's probably having a bad week. He did seem a bit fretful today on the set. Besides, it's your first week. He'll warm up to you, you'll see."

We talked of other things. I told her about my desire to become a journalist and my lack of success in finding a suitable job somewhere. She then told me that she actually wanted to become a politician but dropped out of college when she started working for Declan Coyne. She's been working for Declan Coyne for 2 years.

She told me stories and anecdotes about her job. She told me that Declan is very easygoing and down-to-earth. She even told me that she sometimes snaps at him if she feels his demands are humiliating or come across as cocky or arrogant. She also informed me that sometimes Declan flirts and is a little too playful.

"Do you reciprocate his flirting?" I said, smiling.

"I do," she said, blushing, "but he does most of the flirting. And it doesn't come across as offensive or that he's taking advantage of his power. He sometimes gently compliments on my clothes or my hair or whatever. He's very sweet and respectful. I guess I'm lucky." She paused. "If you're free tomorrow, would you like to join me and a couple of my friends for dinner? Since neither of us have dates, we decided to get together. Are you free?"

I took my calendar out of my purse and pretended to check if I had any engagements. As predicated, it was empty.

"I'm free," I said.

"Great! I'll be in a restaurant called _Vincent's_—a few of blocks from here at seven."

I've been so depressed. That was my first week as Elijah Goldsworthy's assistant. That's how it went. The job, of course, is not difficult—I can do it with my eyes closed. Elijah was so rude to me the whole time. I don't like to be treated that way. I'm not saying he has to be nice to me all the time, but still. He could have at least acknowledged my existence a little more. Evidently he doesn't like me. Either that or he's an anti-social freak.

Saturday evening and I'm getting ready to meet Holly J and her friends. I don a dark-green top and black jeans. It's kind of chilly outside (it's October), so I grab my black suede jacket and leave the apartment.

Adam called me this morning and asked if something was the matter. I told him I was fine. I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone. I've been screening calls all day. I made sure my cereal supply was good and binged all day, while watching TV.

While riding on the subway train, I try to read Seth Grahame-Smith's Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a new twist on a classic and it's fantastic so far, but an old Hispanic man is staring at me. I hate it when people stare. I can't concentrate on my reading because the man's wrinkled face is looking right at me. It's very distracting. I always encounter a weirdo whenever I ride the train. I should take cabs more often. The man is still looking at me. I wish I had enough courage to say, "What the _fuck_ are you looking at?" But I simply look back at the man who's staring at me and smiling persistently. The train finally reaches my stop, and the man slowly bobs his head rather rhythmically and says, "Have a lovely evening young lady!" I smile back at him, feeling stupid for being so paranoid.

I can see Holly J from outside of the restaurant. Another woman is sitting next to her. I take long strides toward the table and as I sit in one of the chairs, Holly J introduces me to Anya, her friend.

"You're late!" Holly J says, smiling.

"I'm sorry. The train was slow today."

"My other friend canceled. She has a date," she informs me. "So it's just the three of us."

This is a nice restaurant. It is dimly lit and there's a man playing the cello. The place is small, very intimate, a place I'd like to be in on a date—instead of with two women who obviously have nothing better to do.

We order our food. After a full day of bingeing I'm not very hungry, so I order a pasta salad and garlic bread. Holly J orders a dinner that consists of salmon, caviar, and wild rice. Anya orders a steak dinner. The three of us order Cosmopolitans.

"Anya, Clare is Elijah Goldsworthy's new assistant. She started last Monday."

Anya nods and smiles at me sweetly. "How do you like the job so far?"

I smile sheepishly and glance at Holly J.

"She told me the job sucks," Holly J says with a chuckle.

"Why?" asks Anya.

"I don't think Elijah likes me very much."

"Why doesn't he like you?"

"I don't know. He hardly said a word to me. He didn't even look at me. He was just…I don't know…not very nice." I really don't feel like talking about it. I try to change the subject by asking Anya what she does for a living.

"Same as you and Holly J, I work for Riley Stavros, the one who plays Jake on _'Minglers'_."

Oh, great. The three of us are the assistants of the three guys from the show. Now all we'll do is talk about work. I'm beginning to regret coming here. I roll my eyes at Holly J for not telling me.

"I'm sorry for not telling you, Clare. I just thought it would be fun for us to get together like this. We can talk about work and make fun of those guys. I think it takes some of the pressure off. That way you can call us every time you feel uneasy—frustrated. I know how it is. It's not easy, this job. People treat you like you're nobody. Working as an assistant doesn't have the same cachet as an agent or a publicist."

As she rambles on about the importance of our meeting, I can't help but notice that Holly J and Anya are a lot prettier than I am. Holly J has high cheekbones and thin lips. The kind of lips I wish I had. I hate my lips. The bottom lip is fuller than my top one and when I smile the top lip almost disappears. I don't like to smile because of it. Anya is also very beautiful with her shoulder length dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. They have flawless skin, and they look like TV stars in their own right. I feel dwarfed by their beauty.

The food arrives. As we drink our Long Island Iced Teas and eat our respective meal, we discuss work.

"You won't believe what some assistants do," Anya says. "They sell information to the press, especially the tabloids."

Holly J nods in agreement.

I wipe my mouth with a handkerchief and say, "I bet they do. But it's terrible, isn't it? I mean, celebrities have the right to some privacy, don't they?"

"I agree. It happens all the time," Holly J says. "And not just assistants, but also the housekeepers, publicists, even their family members. It's kind of sad. Not being able to trust anyone."

"If I were famous I wouldn't trust anyone," I say.

"They don't, really. It goes with the territory. But still, I'd rather be an ordinary person and know that the people I meet are trustworthy," says Holly J.

I know all about people selling information to the press. I've even heard that the celebrities are in on it—cheap publicity or something. I lean forward on the table and whisper, "Have either of you ever sold information to the press?"

They glance at each other silently. Judging by their silence, I can only assume that they have. "Wow," I say with a snort.

"I did once," says Holly J. "I felt guilty after I did it. It happened a few months after I started working for Declan." She clears her throat. "A tabloid newspaper offered me a lot of money—and I _needed_ the money. I owed college loans! I spoke on the condition of anonymity. I told them a lot of personal stuff about Declan. I cried when I saw Declan's disgusted expression while reading the article. He looked so hurt. He's entitled to his privacy, and I had no right to invade it."

There's an awkward silence. I wish I had a tape recorder right now. This could make a very interesting article. But then again, we're discussing betrayal and selling stories to the press—not exactly an exposé. But maybe I could make it look interesting and readable on paper! But no, it doesn't seem appropriate to quote Holly J's confession considering we're discussing invasion of privacy.

"Anyway," Anya says, breaking the silence, "you made one tiny mistake, HJ. People do stupid things. And if you needed the loot, you needed the loot."

"I guess you're right," Holly J says.

I wave my hand dismissively at her and say, "Don't worry about it. It's in the past."

We spend the rest of the time talking of other things.

This little get-together makes me feel a whole lot better. I actually enjoy the company of Holly J and Anya. And I have decided not to do undercover work on Elijah. I will not betray him. Even though he is a bit of a jackass, he's entitled to his privacy.

I don't know if I should quit. I will give the job another week. If Elijah doesn't look at me or speak to me again next week, I will treat him with the same coldness. I'll be one of those bitchy assistants who don't take crap from their superiors. He won't intimidate me, _I'll_ intimidate him. Sure.

Back home, I check my messages. Only mom called. I open the refrigerator—nothing. Just a gallon of water and a bottle of vodka I picked up earlier today at the liquor store. I have no food—I ate it all during my binge.

I take a nice, long bath and drink vodka. I need to unwind and digest my thoughts and feelings about Elijah and work. I love the pleasure of a warm bath late at night. The bubbles soothe me.

And the vodka sedates me.

Despite the difficult week, I made two friends. And I got to see the live taping of a TV show. I also got to meet Elijah Goldsworthy. For better or for worse, he is now my boss and I guess I should make an effort to get him to like me. Although I did say that I would treat him coldly, I don't think I can. Instead of being rude to him, I'll be sweet and charming. I hope against hope that he'll reciprocate.

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**Who got the joke? Ideas and theories are always welcomed!**


	5. Circle Of Friends

**Hello everyone! First off you'll probably hate me for this chapter because it is filler! The next chapter will be better I promise! Please review!**

**I would like to thank everyone for their reviews you all ROCK! Also someone asked about Eli's point of view and as of right now I do not intend on it! I have a bunch of this written already and just working out the kinks, thoughts and ideas are still always welcomed and I love them! Thank you all!**

**Oh the joke in the last chapter was actually more subtle than I though it was the comment about Holly J and Anya looking they they were TV stars, ya...my sense of humor, it does that! T_T**

**Rated M, in case you didn't notice!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but maybe after I get my tax refund next friday I will own more, nothing mentioned in this story of course! Mutiny Below-Ludo and Circle of Friends - Better Than Ezra.**

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**V**

Just a little while ago, I was enjoying a moment of peace reading the _New York Times Comics_ section and eating a bagel in the comfort of my living room-slash-bedroom when my cell phone rang. It was Elijah Goldsworthy—telling me that he will be attending an art gallery for a charity tonight and that I should be there in case he needs me. He told me that Fitz has put my name on the guest list. He also told me that I should wear something formal and elegant for the occasion. The gallery is located in SoHo.

This is my second week as his assistant. Today is Tuesday, and yesterday, he was still treating me coldly and hardly spoke to me or looked at me. Although I said I would be sweet and charming, I didn't bother to try. I'm beginning to suspect that his crankiness has nothing to do with me. Perhaps he is going through a difficult time. Maybe that beautiful woman he was with last Monday was his girlfriend and they broke up. I haven't seen her since then—so what else could it be? But that still doesn't explain his coldness. He seems nice enough to everyone else, or at least that's the impression I've been getting. Whatever the reason, I have decided to not let it affect me. If he wants to be a _crabby patty_, that's fine with me.

Now I must decide on what to wear for the soirée. I usually wear casual clothes—I don't have any expensive designer dresses or designer shoes. I spend my days wearing t-shirts, sweaters, leggings, and boots purchased in places like the Gap or Conway on 34th Street. I have some nice and classy looking dresses, but they're not classy or expensive enough for a star-strutted event. I know the place is going to be filled with famous faces and important rich people pretending to know something about art. I must look presentable, because even though I'm not shallow or the least bit fashion-conscious—or even fashionable, for that matter—I don't want to give the impression that I'm some broke-ass assistant either, although that _is_ what I am. Ugh! This is not going to work, my clothes are too mediocre. I have no other choice than to call Alli and ask her to loan me a dress, I mean she does own a boutique.

"Hey Alli!" I say excitingly.

"Hello Clare, what do you want?"

"What do you mean 'what do you want'? Can't I call my friend and not want anything?"

She sighs impatiently. "Come on, Clare. You never call me anymore unless you want something. Now, spare us both the time and just tell me what you want."

"I need a dress, a nice dress. Preferably a very expensive one and I also need shoes."

"Why?"

"Because Elijah Goldsworthy invited me to a charity event tonight and I want to look presentable."

"Oh my God! You see? You're already exposed to the entertainment lifestyle. Your job is so glamorous and I'm jealous! Would it be okay if you brought a friend—an attractive and available friend?"

As if! "You are not available. You have a boyfriend. Remember?"

"Yeah, although probably not for very long, he's threatened to dump me because I refuse to go down on him. I mean, honestly, isn't oral sex, like, the most disgusting thing there is?" Alli and Drew's relationship has been a never ending, on and off again battle since high school.

"Don't knock it till you try it, sweetie. Anyway, are you going to loan me a dress or not?"

"Yes. But you have to come over and get it yourself. I have plans for tonight. I'm going to see _Next To Normal _with Drew, Adam and his new girlfriend, Fiona—a Goddess-like creature he met at a bar after work the other night, she's gorgeous and seems to be really sweet to him, I guess she's some budding fashion designer."

As happy as I was for Adam that he found someone I couldn't help but think, how typical. I'm always excluded from their little get-togethers. They never invite me to musicals or other fun stuff. But tonight, I'm the one with the exciting evening, or at least I hope it will be exciting.

I tell Alli that I'll be there in ten minutes.

Alli's apartment is only five blocks away from where I live. She also lives only one block away from her boutique. She lives in a beautiful loft on 78th and Amsterdam. This was bought shortly after her boutique took off, her inheritance from her grandparents helped. Daily I see a new sign for her store, getting more publicity so, at the tender age of twenty-four, Alli is loaded with loot.

I met Alli Bhandari in the ninth grade in high school; we both went to Degrassi Community School in Canada. Alli was always boy crazy back then, and always making bad decisions when it came to boys as well. She dressed preppy and in bright colors, most of the time she hid it from her parents. Unlike me with my floral and denim get-ups I usually enjoy, she has broken me out of my shell since then. First she convinced me to stop wearing my old school uniform, in the ninth grade. I had no sense of style whatsoever. But Alli remedied that—well, almost. She taught me to dress with some class and made me realize that my naturally curly hair was indeed beautiful without always pulling it back in a ponytail. She also taught me to be more presentable with my appearance. "How would people know that you're intelligent and witty if you present yourself in such an uptight manner?" she often said in her posh, rich girl voice. She even pulled some strings and got me the studio apartment I'm currently subletting.

In school Alli started dating Drew Torres, your typical dumb-jock really, but through Drew I met Adam. Adam Torres was one of the most talented writers in my English class, in sophomore year he became my English partner. He was one of the best writers at our school and it rolled over into college. He made thorough, insightful and sometimes controversial sexual identity and race issues within the campus. He always took it one step further and, despite his talent, his articles often got him into trouble. The professors were somewhat intimidated by his fierce approach in writing, some were even jealous. They told him not to write such controversial articles, that he didn't have to. After all, they were only class assignments. But he paid no attention. He wrote thought-provoking articles about affirmative action, separation among races on campus, homophobia and homosexual teachers in the closet and many other nail-biting stories that made the professors shudder with dread, envy, and indignation. It paid off. Shortly after graduation, Adam was offered a job at the _New York Observer_ and now has his own political column in the paper. He's always fighting for the underdog, which is probably why we've stayed friends for so long.

I was—and still am—the ugly duckling of the group. The one they have had to train, the financially challenged one of the three.

"Hurry up and pick a dress. Drew is picking me up in ten minutes to meet Adam and Fiona at the entrance of the theater." Alli says fretfully.

"Aren't we in a sunny mood?" I say, with sarcasm of course.

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you bitching at me?"

She gives me a dirty look.

"What?" I ask.

"_You know!_ Drew and I are going out tonight, usually that leads to overnight activities and I haven't the faintest notion what to say to get myself out of having sex with him."

"I thought I was supposed to be the prude, goodness Alli, and give the guy a break! God, what I wouldn't give to get some! It's not like you haven't slept with him before."

"Exactly my point!" Alli rolls her eyes, she then sighs and smiles and gestures toward the closet. "Please pick a dress and hurry."

I pick a dress in lavender made of satin with a square neckline, tight, with the length just a little above the knees. I grab some seemingly expensive silver strappy sandals from her large closet. I don the dress and the shoes. I put my hair up in some barrettes put on some of Alli's pink lipstick and Paris Hilton perfume and admire the results. I must admit that I look like one sexy babe! I put the clothes I was wearing when I got here in her closet.

"You look beautiful!" Alli says, sounding impressed. "Knock 'em dead and don't forget to call me for a postmortem.

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**Chapter 6 coming soon!**


	6. 3 AM

**Here you all go, it's longer than my other chapters but it's what I'm sure some have waited for! I thank you all for all of the reviews and everything! NExt chapter might be a little while still working out the kinks of the plot (I have chapter 8 written but does not connect to this really some crucial points missing!) Anyways hope you all enjoy!**

**Rated M - you'll see why a little bit in the chapter so you are WARNED! Again sorry if the characters might seem OOC!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, which is really depressing. Story title is a song by the awesome Ludo and the chapter title is my favorite in the world Matchbox Twenty!**

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**VI**

The gallery is crowded with famous people. You see nothing but beautiful people with smiling faces. The women are wearing gorgeous and extravagant gowns and the men are wearing the usual tuxes. You'd think this is a royal wedding or something. The paparazzi are taking pictures of the celebrities. The celebrities look bored. I sense that they're here more out of obligation than anything else. Elijah Goldsworthy is getting his picture taken with two of his cast mates. He's wearing a black suit with a dark-red tie. He looks great. Fitz, a.k.a. the evil publicist, is standing a short distance away from him, beaming with pride.

Elijah hasn't said a word to me this evening. I've been standing around looking at the paintings and sculptures, bored as hell.

The art gallery is brightly lit. The paintings are placed on the white walls, waiting to be purchased. The name of the artist is Zane Park. Half of the money earned from the paintings will go to The Make a Wish Foundation: a foundation that helps sick children with a big wish (besides getting better). Well, at least it's for a good cause.

I'm sitting on a barstool drinking champagne and watching everyone mingle and observe the paintings. The paintings are mostly of nude men and women standing in strange positions. They are tangled up with one another. Others are holding each other forcefully. The colors used for the paintings are black and gray. The paintings seem to be sending a message of struggle, misunderstanding, pain, sorrow, loneliness, sexual tension, lack of communication, and perhaps inexpressible love—the sorts of things that go on in relationships. At least that's my perception judging by their body language and facial expressions. I get lost in their beauty. The artist seems very talented and imaginative. There is one particular painting I really like. A painting of two nude men holding hands, they are standing side by side, holding hands, but looking away (as if they're ashamed to be holding hands). I like the message that the artist seems to be sending: there is nothing wrong with platonic love between two men, although society does not allow it. The two men seem to want to be close, but their reluctance is obvious. It is sort of like a separate togetherness. It's a very beautiful painting. I'd love to buy it, and I _would_ buy it—if I had a quarter of a million dollars.

I am so absorbed by the beauty and darkness of the painting that I notice absentmindedly a balding, drunken old man in a gray suit staring at me from the other end of the bar. He walks over and sits on the empty stool next to mine. He is sitting uncomfortably close. His breath smells of vodka.

"You're that chick…that chick from that movie…What's the name of that movie?" the drunken man slurs, snapping his fingers rapidly and looking as if he's racking his brain, trying to remember.

"I'm sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else."

"I know I've seen you somewhere before. Maybe I dreamed you, and you came true!" He raises his arms triumphantly.

Oh boy.

"You are my dream woman."

I find nothing more repellent than a drunken man hitting on me.

"You are even prettier than that chick from that movie!"

"I thought you said I _was_ the chick from the movie."

He ignores me. "What's the name of that chick from that movie? Oh yeah, you're prettier than that chick… Megan Fox!"

I snort. "And if you have another drink, I'll be even prettier!"

I get up and walk away before he has a chance to respond.

I don't want to be here. Nobody wants to talk to me. No one cares about assistants. The other assistants are probably hiding somewhere. This is pointless. Nothing remotely interesting has happened tonight. Nothing worth taking notes in case I should write a story about the event. No, it's not worth it.

"Bored?" a familiar voice says from behind.

I turn to see Elijah Goldsworthy looking at me, he was smirking his drop-dead signature smirk. His eyes are beaming with vitality.

I don't respond. He caught me off guard. His gaze is friendly, even affectionate. I'm a little surprised by his sudden kindness.

He's still looking at me, probably waiting for an answer. I should say something. _Say something, idiot!_ "Uh…Yes, very," I stammer.

"Ah! My cute little assistant is bored, huh?"

Did he just call me cute?

"So am I," he continues. "I personally don't like charity events. It's kind of phony if you ask me. If I want to help those in need, I do it on my own time. No one needs to know. I'm only here because Fitz said it would make good publicity." He makes a dramatic pause. "Publicity sounds selfish, doesn't it?"

"Yes," I say shyly. "Ironic."

He smiles. "Shall we?" He gestures toward the exit.

We grab our coats and walk slowly and casually toward the exit and escape to freedom.

We grab a cab to the Upper West Side and then walk around the neighborhood for a few minutes. Elijah's head is hanging low—I suppose he doesn't want people to see, recognize, and then mug him. We arrive at Riverside Park and sit on a bench near the river we're sitting side by side. The chilly autumn breeze is gently hitting our faces. The park is deserted, save for a few patrons walking by here and there. It is dark out here; no one would recognize him in the dark. Elijah is sitting quietly. He's looking straight ahead at the river. He seems to relish the silence. He's in his element here. I feel uneasy. Why did he bring me here? Why is he all of a sudden treating me nicely? To be honest, I feel awkward and intrusive.

Suddenly, he looks at me and says, "Do you like it here?"

"Yes," I answer, not knowing what else to say.

"I like it here. I often come here at night for a moment of solitude and peace. I hardly ever get to be alone. There is always someone there, disturbing my peacefulness—my life. But for some reason, I didn't want to come here alone tonight."

"Why did you pick me to accompany you?"

He smirks again. "Because I knew you'd make a great companion. You are one of the few people I know that actually respects my space."

What on God's green earth is he talking about? Respect his space? He hasn't allowed me anywhere near _his space_. He hadn't spoken to me or looked at me until a few minutes ago.

He looks at me as if knowing what I was thinking "You're probably wondering why I treated you so harshly," he whispers. "The reason I treated you with such indifference and coldness was simply because I didn't want you to get too close to me. I can't let anyone I meet get too close. It is so horrible if all of a sudden a person I care about leaves. I figure it would be better if I keep a certain distance."

I stare at him in silence.

He continues: "You probably think it's strange—what I'm telling you, but—"

"Actually, it doesn't. It must be hard to be friends with regular people, being famous and all."

"Fame has nothing to do with it. I just don't like to be around people a lot. But don't ask me about it. I wouldn't expect you or anybody else to understand."

"I sort of understand. I mean, I'm not that sociable either." I pause. "But then why did you bring me here if you want no part of me?"

"I just told you. You are one of the few people I know that respects my space."

"I see."

I look at him. His features are so perfect…so gorgeous. His eyes are the color of emeralds. They're beautiful! His face can be deceiving. One minute his face is very childlike and vulnerable and soft, almost like a baby's. The next minute, his face is completely chiseled and ruggedly handsome. It depends on what angle he's in. His stylish, black suit gives him an additional air of sophistication. He looks somewhat European—perhaps of French or British descent. His face fascinates me, more so than that painting of the two naked men I was admiring earlier at the gallery. This man is perfection, at least in my eyes. One thing is certain though: he is _way_ out of my league.

There's a sullen silence.

He seems to enjoy the silence. I shall grant him the silence.

I feel more relaxed and less intrusive.

After five minutes of silence, Elijah says, "Is this all you want in life, Clare? Do my errands and bring me coffee? Because let's face it, this job is not exactly a great job. It's demeaning. And I know that _you_ know that. Be honest, do you hate this job?"

Oh, God. Again, he caught me off guard. I don't know if I should be honest with him. He would probably fire me if he knew how much I detest this job. I take a deep breath and say, "To be honest Elijah-"

"Call me Eli please, I actually can't stand my real name." He explains.

I nod "Ok Eli…yes, I hate this job." I clear my throat. "I aspire to something else, something more productive."

"What do you aspire to be?"

"A jo—writer. I want to be a writer."

"You want to be a journalist?"

I don't answer.

He laughs. "It's okay, Clare, I saw your résumé. And I must say, I'm very impressed."

"Then why did you ask me if you already knew?"

He chuckles. "I wanted to test your level of honesty."

"Did I pass the test? Or—"

"You couldn't help being honest. You passed," he says, with a charming smile.

We gaze at each other for a moment. I try not to look directly at him. His eyes, they are so powerful that I think they might turn me into stone or something. I'm probably exaggerating, although I don't think I am. He is so beautiful. All of him is.

I assure him that I have no intention of writing anything about him behind his back, that I am not an undercover journalist—not even a journalist at that.

"That's okay," he says. "I trust you."

"You do?"

"I do." He sighs and looks at me up and down, then into my eyes. "You have pretty eyes, by the way."

I feel my cheeks turn red. "Thanks."

I'm feeling vulnerable right now, sitting here in the dark with this gorgeous man, with the intimacy, with his vulnerability, with his natural charm, with his sweetness. It's making me feel all sorts of strange emotions. When his arm gently brushes against mine, I feel the warmth of it. And it's making me vulnerable. I don't know what's happening to me but whatever it is; I should just try to ignore it. Maybe it was his sweet gesture: bringing me here, his sanctuary, with him, that's making me feel this way.

Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with desire. I wish I could taste those exquisite lips of his. I wish he would turn around and, with animal hunger, tear up my dress and take one of my nipples into his beautiful mouth. I wish I could straddle him and ride him like a mad woman. I wish he'd fuck me like no one's ever fucked me before. I wish, I wish...

I feel faint. I should stop this interaction. I tell him I should get going.

"Really? You want to leave? I was hoping we could stay here for a little while longer."

He says this with such vulnerability and sweetness that I immediately change my mind.

Half an hour later, we leave the park. We're on our way to my place. He insists on walking me home. He's walking with his face in his hands and his head hanging rather low—again avoiding the gaze of potential muggers, or paparazzi.

While we walk, I have a sudden urge to ask him a couple of questions. "Why did you let Fitz treat me that way last week?"

"When?"

"That day he went to your place and he—very rudely—asked me to leave the office."

He thinks for a moment and says, "Fitz's a prick. He treats everyone that way. Just ignore him."

"That should be his nickname then, Fitz the Prick."

Eli laughs.

We finally arrive at my building. He leans forward and gently kisses me on the cheek. He smells of cologne and aftershave. I think I'm going to swoon.

"How are you going to get home?" I ask.

"I'll just hail a cab. I do it all the time," he says proudly.

After a silent gaze, he starts walking away.

"Wait!" I shout. "What happened to that woman?"

"What woman?"

"A woman you were with on my first day at work, a very beautiful woman."

"Chantay, we're not _messing around_ anymore. She was doing something very unpleasant to me behind my back."

Did she cheat on him? What kind of moron would cheat on this perfection of a man?

"What did she do?" I ask.

He looks at me rather dramatically and says: "She was selling information about me to the press."

"Oh," I say, almost inaudibly.

I walk up the stairs to my apartment in a haze. I feel strange. Perhaps I should go back downstairs and invite him over to my apartment for some coffee or something. Perhaps I should ask him to spend the night with me and do the wild things that entered my mind earlier. Or perhaps I should ask him to stay here with me, forever. I don't know what's happening to me, but I do know one thing: I miss him already.

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See that button down there? The one with the R? Ya that's the one, click on it and type something! PEACE!


	7. Virginia Moon

**First and foremost, sorry for the late update I got writers block for this chapter to get it the last one and the next one to merge together. I think it's rushed so forgive me! I'm on my way to take a test but I wanted to get this published! I thank you all for the reviews and everything! I think some will like this, the next will be better and updates will come faster a little bit for awhile! Anyways enjoy!**

**Warning it's rated M but you can't really tell with this one!**

**Disclaimer - I own scantrons to go take my first Sociology test right now! Wish me luck! Mutiny Below is Ludo and Virginia Moon is by the awesome Foo Fighters (and Nora Jones!)! PEACE!**

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**VII**

The next few days was business as usual, with the exception of the cold attitude from Eli had turned into a warmer one, almost as if we were friends. I didn't push my luck not wanting to go back to the original treatment so I still kept my distance. I was sitting in Eli's office in an attempt to organize his financial records, whoever his last assistant was did not live in the present time of technology. I was recording all of his finances into a computer program to get rid of the mess of papers and make sure everything was in order. Eli walked in looking over my shoulder "Having fun?" I jumped not expecting him.

He chuckled "Sorry Clare didn't mean to startle you."

I shake my head "No it's ok, I was just concentrating too hard. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." He held up 2 ties as if asking me to choose which one, I looked at his gray shirt and pointed to a dark violet one. Weird.

I went back to my conversation "Who was your last assistant? Did they not know of the internet?" I asked him, hoping I wasn't stepping on any toes.

Eli shrugged "She was kind of old, but I've also had 20 assistants in the last 5 years."

I was appalled wide-eyed "20? Guess none of them ever stick around enough to organize your outdated system. Why so many?"

He looked down a moment "I'm not sure, something about me being hard to work for?"

I smiled slightly "You're not so bad after a while, once you get past the smell."

"Funny, well then it's a good thing I have you now isn't it?" he smirked; I couldn't help but feel my cheeks flush. I turned around and continued to do my work when the phone rang, I answered it.

"Elijah Goldsworthy's office, this is Clare." I said in a professional voice, cringing at the voice on the other end.

"I need to talk to Eli." Fitz rudely stated, I rolled my eyes before realizing that Eli was still standing there watching me, he smirked again. I held the phone up to him whispering "the prick on line one Mr. Goldsworthy." Eli took the phone.

"What do I owe this pleasure Fitz?" he asked in to the phone. I couldn't hear Fitz so I went back to my task at hand listening to Eli's side of the conversation.

"Seriously?...No, I don't…You're getting ridiculous now…Because it's not my style!...Riiight, I'll think about it." he ended with sarcastically as if really meaning 'In your dreams'. They spoke for another moment before Eli handed me the phone to hang up.

"Bad news?" I asked apprehensively not wanting to intrude in case it was too private of a discussion.

He shook his head "No he's just grasping at straws, trying to get me to go on Dancing With the Stars." He looked down at me as I smiled slightly not quite believing him.

"Seriously?" I asked he nodded "Exactly my reaction." The call had distracted him from his ties so he was trying to tie it again, I stood up out of the chair straightening it and tying it for him. He watched me as I finished I looked up into his eyes staring at me intensely I had to catch my breath, wanting desperately for him to lean in and kiss me, wait what am I thinking? I pulled back starting to feel a little warm, I laughed slightly trying to take the tension out.

"Well, you are pretty popular. I'm sure you could win, even if you don't know how to dance." I stated as I was picking up some papers to start shredding.

Eli looked lost in thought for a moment before responding "Oh I know how to dance, quite well actually. I just don't do reality TV that's all. I think it's a waste of the art of entertainment."

"You know, for someone in this business you sure are cynical about it." I told him as I watched the papers shred feeding the shredder more.

"I love what I do, but the price that comes with doing what I love to do in acting is sometimes…too expensive let's say." He responded walking up behind me, I could feel his warmth. I finished with the stack of papers moving to sit back at the desk.

"Well I agree with you there, reality TV seems like a desperate way for people to get attention, though I will admit a few shows I watch once in a while." I stated keeping my eyes on the task at hand, he was silent a moment after. I finally look over at him and our eyes met he then smirked. Then his phone chimed, he opened it looking at a text message it seemed.

"Well looks like my date just bailed! I guess call The Plaza and cancel the reservations please." He requested before walking out of the office. I pick up the phone after finding the number to the restaurant "Yes I'd like to cancel a reservation, I'll hold-" Just then I felt the phone being taken from my hand and hung up I whip my head around quickly to see Eli looking at me "On second thought, hungry?"

I've never been more grateful for my choice of clothes today as I was at this moment. I was dressed in a baby blue silk blouse with a black pencil skirt; I was going for a more professional look today. Also it was time to do laundry and I didn't have anything but nicer things to wear than my usual. At least I didn't feel like a hobo walking into The Plaza with a TV star, I couldn't help but wonder who his date was that bailed on him. Also why would he ask me? Not that I minded because I was really starting to enjoy spending time with him not that we do that much since that night in the park, but there was something about him that just made me feel comfortable, I can't put a name on it.

We had been seated at our table and ordered our food, I was glad he was paying because even though this job pays well, it still does not afford The Plaza. I had decided to take this moment and went over his schedule with him which was done by the time the food arrived.

"So why did you become a journalist?" he asked. I smiled slightly "Why did you become and actor?" I ask him back with a question. He smirked "I asked first Ms. Edwards."

I look down at my empty plate for a moment "I love the truth in it. I know these days many say there isn't so much truth in journalism that it is all faux but there is. My friend Adam who was my English partner in high school really inspires me, he's always writing the next big controversial story."

"You two sound close." Eli said, I look up at him trying to read his eyes to no avail. I clear my throat.

"We've just been friends forever, nothing more than that at least not on my end." I smile at him he smirks again. "So now my turn, why acting?" I ask.

He shrugged "I like the lack of truth in it, the fact that I can be whoever I want to be really."

"Aren't you already who you want to be? I mean you're doing something you love to do, and the fans you have, have loved you for doing it." I tell him, he gives me a small smile looking at his plate "Yeah well sometimes being someone else is the better thing for me." He looks at me again; I can feel the intensity of his gaze I look away.

"I guess that's ok, I could never do it so I admire the people who can." I look away from him and around at the restaurant, I notice a dance floor and watched the people dance there for a moment.

He must've followed my gaze because the next thing I know he's standing and holding his hand out to me "May I have this dance?" I blush taking his hand.

"I'm not really a dancer." I admitted to him as he led me to the dance floor, he put his arm around my waist while holding my other hand "Just follow my lead." He smirked then we started moving with the jazzy tune.

_Dearest constellation, heaven surroundin' you_

_Stay there, soft and blue. Virginia Moon, I'll wait for you tonight_

Eli lead me all around the dance floor, I couldn't help but keep looking down at my feet trying desperately not to step on his.

_Sweetest invitation, breaking the day in two_

_Feelin' like I do, Virginia Moon, I'll wait for you tonight_

He was like an expert dancer, graceful even I felt like such an amateur compared to him, he moved back holding one hand spinning me around before holding my waist again, I blush giving him a slight smile.

_And now our shades become shadows in your light_

_In the morning wind we're through and tomorrow rescues you,_

_I will say goodnight_

I was concentrating on my feet still when I felt his fingers on my chin lifting my head up forcing me to look him in the eye, as I stared deeply getting lost in his green eyes my feet were the last thing on my mind.

_Secret fascination, whisper a quiet tune_

_Hear me callin' you, Virginia Moon; I'll wait for you tonight_

Eli smirked leaning in to me, I could feel his breath against my skin. I couldn't help but feel hot and not just from the physical activity we were doing but the desire I felt building in me. I wanted him so bad.

_And now our shades become shadows in your light_

_In the morning wind we're through and tomorrow rescues you,_

_I will say goodnight_

He led me all around the dance floor, I forgot there were even people in the room he was all I was thinking of in this moment, he twirled me again pulling me back keeping eye contact. Then leaned his cheek against mine, I could smell his cologne in his neck, I wanted to kiss him but refrained from doing so.

_Virginia Moon, I'll wait for you tonight_

_And now our shades become shadows in your light_

_In the morning wind we're through and tomorrow rescues you,_

He kept a strong hold on me; I could feel him take a deep breath as if he smelled my hair. His hand on my back leading me around was so strong yet so gentle I couldn't help think of what other magic he could do with those hands. I leaned back to look into his eyes again, I could sense there was something there but couldn't read him. I couldn't shake this feeling about him, he's always on my mind and being in his arms right now doesn't help.

_I will say goodnight_

_I will say goodnight_

He spun me around one last time as the song seemed to be ending before catching me again and dipping me down I noticed him look down at my lips silently begging him to make the move. He instead lifted me back up to stand I smiled laughing nervously "Well you'd have my vote." He smirked leading me off the dance floor.

_I will say goodnight_

We left the restaurant waiting outside for a cab; I looked over at him "Sorry your date bailed on you." I told him, he looked at me shrugging "its okay I had a better time with you anyway." I blushed looking at the cab that pulled up, he opened the cab door for me "I've gotta meet Fitz in a short while so you can go ahead and go home." I nodded.

"I had a great time." He said leaning down to kiss me on the cheek, like he did last week. I smiled "Me too." I get in the cab looking back at him "Goodnight Eli."

"Goodnight Clare" he responded giving me his smirk again. The cab drove away I sat there trying to analyze what happened tonight. Did he feel it too or, am I just fooling myself? Ever since he stopped being a jackass to me he's all I think about and not just in the business sense. I close my eyes for a moment seeing his in my head daydreaming of what could have happened at the end of that dance. My eyes snapped open when a though came to me. Am I in love with Eli Goldsworthy? Oh shit.

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**Review please?**


	8. Bathwater

**Hello again everyone! Here I am updating again! I actually have this story pretty written out all the way up to chapter 14! After that I had to brainstorm some more so I have more planned in the future. No saying just how long this story is going to be! You may or may not like what is going on just trust me I think you'll like it! Please review! Reviews are what let me know people are actually reading and I appreciate them royally! Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this!**

**Rated M - Because that's just the way it is.**

**Disclaimer: I own...yeah that too, but not Degrassi or Mutiny Below by Ludo or Bathwater by No Doubt! PEACE!**

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**VIII**

I was having loving thoughts of Eli all night. I hate having to think so much about him, but it feels so good. I have no idea what to make of it, I don't even know if I should make something of it. Perhaps I shouldn't dwell on it. I'm probably making a big deal out of the whole thing anyway.

I spent the whole night pondering over whether or not I should tell Eli how I feel about him. I have decided not to tell him—for now. I want to know if our friendship is solid enough to handle this type of confession. I also want to see if his interest in me goes beyond a professional level. Besides, I think it's too soon to tell him anyway, Two weeks ago it seemed like he hated me and I was starting to hate him. It's reasonable to wait; my purpose is to charm him, not scare him away.

I am skipping this morning on my way to work. The rays of the morning sun are blinding me and I'm squinting into the chilly autumn breeze. Puffs of cold air come out of my mouth as I make my way to Park Avenue. I feel exhilarated. I can't wait to see the man that makes me melt with lust.

When I arrive at Eli's, I notice a long and thin arm dangling from one of the chairs in the main room. I walk slowly toward the room and see a woman lying in one of the recliners. Her eyes are closed. She is very beautiful. She's wearing a white silk nightie, which complements her slightly tanned skin. Her brunette, wavy hair is slightly rumpled and disheveled. Her full lips are a lovely shade of pink. I suddenly have an urge to kiss those lips. What am I thinking? I've never been attracted to another woman, and I can't say that I'm attracted to this particular woman, but she seems so enticing. She looks like a human mannequin. Who is she? And what is she doing here? No need to guess. I suddenly have a sensation of impending doom.

"May I help you?" the woman asks, noticing me for the first time. Her eyes are a pretty shade of brown.

"Where's Eli?" I ask coldly.

"He's taking a shower. Who are you?"

I should be the one asking that question. Bitch! "I work here. I'm Elijah Goldsworthy's assistant."

Her brown eyes light up. "So you're Clare Edwards! I've heard so much about you!" Eli's told her about me? Jealousy suddenly becomes smugness. Eli tells people about me! Me!

She gets up and shakes my hand. "I'm Bianca DeSousa, I'm a friend of Eli's."

"Nice to meet you," I say uneasily. Friend? What kind of friend? A childhood friend, or a…_friend?_

"Good morning girls!" Eli says as he walks into the room. His hair is dripping wet. He is topless and has a towel wrapped around his waist. The towel is covered with evil clowns smiling broadly. One of the clowns is centered right over his crotch. He's got a rather nice body. I admire his limbs from a distance. Yummy!

"Good morning," Bianca and I say in unison.

She laughs.

I don't.

He walks up to me and kisses me on the cheek, which does wonders to my smugness—he came up to me first! And then he goes over to kiss Bianca, on the lips. I feel like I've been slapped in the face. They kiss, but they're not holding each other in a passionate way. She's holding him firmly by his waist and her face is in his hands, but he is holding her reluctantly, almost forcefully. Her thrusting holds no answering heat from him—or at least that's my perception. I'm standing right next to them. I feel intrusive, like an uninvited guest at a dinner party.

I should just leave.

I should just walk away and leave them to it.

Leave idiot leave!

As if sensing my discomfort, they stop kissing and glance over at me. Bianca smiles bashfully.

"Eli has told me lots about you!" she says, wagging her finger at me. "He tells me you're this brilliant journalist. Is that true?"

"I don't know," I say, with a grimace I hope resembles a smile. "He might've embellished my personality a bit."

"Don't be so modest." She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. "I'm sure you're great."

I marvel at her friendliness. She tries to be charming—and is. She's the kind of woman that I'd love to hate, or hate to love, or whatever. I want no part of her. She will not fool me with her apparent kindness. She's my rival—trying to steal my man.

After a moment of awkward silence, she says, "I should get dressed. I have a dress rehearsal in two hours. It was nice meeting you, Clare."

"Ditto," I say dully.

Eli stares at her as she walks into his bedroom.

"So, who is she?" I ask, feigning casualness.

"A long time friend of mine, I ran into her at a nightclub last night when I met with Fitz. In fact, it was shortly after you and I had dinner together."

I bite my bottom lip and ask the stupidest question in the world. "After dinner?"

"Yeah."

I feel nauseated.

He goes on: "She's very nice—sole to the earth, and lots of fun." I'll bet she is. "You'll like her."

"Is she an actress?"

"No, a dancer."

"A dancer," I say hopelessly.

I feel all sorts of strange things around my body. I feel as though a poisonous substance is running through my veins and chilling my blood. I also feel as though a hot bubble is welling in my head and it's about to burst against my skull. My eyes are bulging like a zombie. I feel my muscles tightening in despair. I lick my lips maniacally. I probably look like Linda Blair in _The Exorcist._

"Are you okay?" Eli asks worriedly.

"Actually…no…I'm not feeling very well today. Is it okay if I take the rest of the day off?"

"Yes, sure." He rubs my neck gently with one hand. "Take as many days off as you want. I'll call you if I need anything."

I leave the apartment without uttering another word. He wants to get rid of me so he can be alone with her. And it hurts.

Well, well, well, what an unpleasant twist of fate! Yesterday, after Eli and I went to dinner and shared a very hot and intimate dance, I realized that I was in love with him, and today, he has a girlfriend. I feel like a fool. But I have no right to object. Oh, God, what shall I do? Should I just walk up to her, yank her by the arm, pull her hair and warn her to keep her mitts off my man? No, that would be degrading. Besides, I don't think a person should be considered someone else's property. Instead of wallowing in jealousy, I'm going to accept the fact that he's got a new girlfriend. Do I have a choice? But I can't fight the tears from rolling down my cheeks. Serves you right for falling in love, Clare, I am crying with tears of rage. Serves you fucking right!

Unbeknownst to him, Eli's already broken my heart.

Sometimes I ask myself: what's the point in loving someone?

I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for it, otherwise people wouldn't make such a big deal out of it. But everyone knows what happens to people who fall in love. Someone breaks the other person's heart—shred it to pieces, more like. Why would anyone want that? Why?

When I was a teenager, mom started telling me many stories. She didn't tell me stories about men and women falling in love and living happily ever after; it was actually quite the opposite. As I've said she was bitter from the divorce and wanted to take my head out of the clouds when it came to things such as love. The reality of my parents' relationship will forever haunt me now.

This was one of the stories:

"One time, a year before you were born, Darcy was still a baby practically, I woke your father up in the middle of the night. I stroked his hair, kissed his neck, put my arms around him, and whispered loving words to him, anything to arouse his attention. He did not respond. He had his eyes closed, but he was not sleeping. He didn't want to reciprocate my affection. I shook him lightly, so as not to annoy him. He didn't budge. 'I know you're awake,' I whispered into his ear, 'and I know you can hear me. Why won't you hold me tightly in your arms? Why won't you caress my body and make love to me the way you used to?' He opened his eyes, looked blankly at me and said, 'Because you repel me. Your body repels me, your face repels me, and even the smell of your skin repels me. If I had it my way, I wouldn't be here with you. I'd be with another woman.' I was speechless for a moment. 'What other woman?' I asked, horrified. 'A woman I'm incredibly attracted to,' he said. 'I met her a few weeks ago. She's amazing. I can't stop thinking about her.'

'What's her name?' I asked.

'I'm not going to tell you,' he answered. 'What matters is that I want her.'

'Is she prettier than me?' I ventured.

'Yes,' he replied hesitantly.

'Is she sexier?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Do you think about her every night?'

'Yes.'

'Do you think about her when we kiss?'

'Yes.'

'Do you think about her when we make love?'

'Yes.'

'Have the two of you made love?'

He paused. 'Yes.'

'I can't believe what I'm hearing.' I covered my face with my hands and cried. He went back to sleep as if nothing had happened.

The very next day, he packed a suitcase and left. I didn't try to stop him. Even though I loved him with all my heart, I still had some pride left. I'll be fine without him, I told myself. My child and I don't need him. We'll be just fine without him.

Three months later, he came back. He let himself in without saying a word and sat on the couch as though he was the king of the household. 'What are you doing here?' I asked. 'I'm back,' he said nonchalantly. It was pointless to argue with him. As far as he was concerned, he could come in and out of the house as he pleased. It happened again and again, and every time he did it, the more aloof I became. My heart grew hollow and indifferent. But deep down inside I was hoping he would change. But he never did. I went through hell with your father, Clare. Don't let it happen to you. Love equals happiness, but in most cases, it equals misery."

That was one of her many stories and anecdotes about my father. I've been thinking about that particular story since I left Eli's house.

Its 3 a. m. and I can't sleep. I try not to think of Eli and his new girlfriend, but it's hard not to. I'm miserable. Mom's right about one thing: love equals misery.

When I enter Eli's apartment the next morning, I hear some mumbling coming from inside his bedroom. I tiptoe my way to the bedroom door and eavesdrop.

"I intend to get my time's worth," Bianca says.

"Not right now," says Eli.

What are they talking about?

"I want us to spend as much time together as possible. I'm aware of our arrangement—"

Arrangement? What arrangement?

"—which is why I want to devour you as much as I can."

Eli laughs. There's a silence in the bedroom. The silence turns into giggling and moaning. I suddenly don't want to eavesdrop anymore.

I quietly leave the apartment.

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**Just for the record because she gets alot of grief, but I love Bianca she's fun! The more reviews I get the sooner you know what the hell is going on! Thank You!**


	9. Daughters

**Hello all! This is a somewhat late update but I get distracted easily. Especially when some of my favorite authors on here update! I love looking at my email telling me that I have a million messages and those are updates! I love this site! My favorite authors are on my favorites list, go and read their stories. Also if you are an author and you have a story on here and I have acutally not read it please let me know, sometimes I overlook things when I'm in a hurry...or I fall asleep. This chapter is sorta filler but neccessary for later purposes. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for all the reviews! I really appreciate them and some were SO heartfelt and sweet, it made my day! Thank you again! I hope you all enjoy!**

**Twitter: TVIsMyDrug4**

**Rated M - Because as a responsible adult and parent I am doing my duty to prevent ruining young minds, my son is screwed! LOL!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own things I PWN them. Ya that was lame and...scary! Degrassi, not mine. Mutiny Below, that's Ludo's (yay for nerd rock!), and Daughters is John Mayers (It was the only song I could thing of to name this chapter it's mostly for the second half of it, insight to Clare let's say!) Anyways check out the music! PEACE!**

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**IX**

Later that night I get together with Adam, Alli, and Fiona at a café on Broadway. The café is decorated with posters of _Rent__, In the Heights, _and _Wicked _along with others_._ A Broadway tune is playing on a jukebox next to which we sit. We each order a cup of coffee and a donut.

_For Now, Only for now…, for now we're happy, for now we're employed, for now we're healthy if not overjoyed and we'll accept the things we cannot avoid…,_ sings the jukebox.

"That's a tune from _Avenue Q,_" says Adam, pointing to the jukebox.

"Do we have to sit next to it?" I nag.

"Sure we have to."

"You okay, Clare?" asks Alli.

"I'm fine."

Fiona is silent. She's reading Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams_._

"Are you enjoying it?" I ask Fiona.

"Yes. Have you read it?"

I nod and say "One of my favorites"

"His writing is very fantastic. He is very good," she says.

Fiona really is a goddess-like creature as both Adam and Alli said. She has dark hair and blue eyes. She's tall and thin, and the way she dresses makes me feel like a hobo. I can't help but notice that Adam gazes at her with a deep, blissful expression.

"How's it going? You big celebrity girl you." Adam asks me. "Still in love with Elijah Goldsworthy?"

"I'm not in love with him," I say defensively. "He's very sweet and attentive, which is why I am…uh, fond of him."

"Yeah. And who are you trying to bullshit?"

Ah, Adam. He likes to piss people off. He's very good at pushing people's buttons. In addition to writing nail-biting articles in college, he did a number of deviations that won the hatred and indignation of everyone on campus—including the campus officials. On graduation day, he mooned the entire graduating class and campus officials and said, "Kiss my boo-boo." The Dean shook his head and said, "We'll miss you, Adam." Evidently Adam is very outspoken and brutally honest. He speaks his mind without a second thought. One way or another, he always gets his political messages across. He is, by no stretch of doubt, the king of political incorrectness. One time he told me, "Do you think we live in a free country? If you think this is a free country, think again. Just ask my ancestors." I marvel at his thirst for attention. Alli and I are saints in comparison. The worst thing I've ever done in my life was ditch an English class in the tenth grade, oh and that whole thing with the vibrator, though I still blame Alli for that one. But I like Adam because he is very loyal to his friends. And I admire him for having the courage to vent some of his anger—to no one in particular, but still. I think it's his way of coping with the oppression he experiences every day. "I'm an FTM," he once said. "Someone has to stand up for the misfits of the world."

"I am not in love with Eli," I say abruptly. "I AM NOT!"

"Okay," Adam says gently. "You don't have to yell, I was only kidding." He changes the subject by talking about—surprise, surprise—him. "I'm a little upset, if you want to know the truth. I had a tete-a-tete this morning with my boss."

"What about?" asks Alli.

"He wants me to cover a story on the Internet. He wants me to cover a political aspect of it. Can you believe it?"

"So?" I ask.

"So? I write hard-hitting journalism." He lightly bangs the table with his fist several times while saying this. "The Internet is a cliché subject—what writer hasn't written an article about the Internet? But it's okay. I have an idea for a good story. It'll be called: 'The Digital Divide.' It's an exposé on the lack of technology and Internet access in inner-city high schools. I'll cover schools in areas in the Bronx and Brooklyn. Perfect!"

"Can't you for once write a story that isn't controversial?" I ask him. "Write something light and fun for once."

Adam looks at me with mock disapproval. "Clare, are you sure you want to be a journalist?"

Fiona and Alli laugh.

I look away in disgust.

"I'm only kidding. God, what is the matter with you?"

"She's love sick," says Alli, chuckling.

"I am not."

"Yes, you are," she argues. "You're madly in love with Eli. You've already admitted it. Now tell us what's wrong."

I sigh. "Eli has a girlfriend," I mutter.

"What?" asks Adam, leaning forward to hear me.

"Eli has a girlfriend," I say, with forceful loudness.

"Does he now?" says Adam.

I nod sadly.

"Are you not surprised? Men like him can't be alone," says Alli.

"I know."

Alli sucks on the inside of her cheeks for a moment and then says, "Have you tried flirting with him?"

"What does flirting consist of?"

"If I have to explain the concept of flirting to you then we have a bigger problem in our hands."

"No, I don't think I've flirted with him."

"Have you tried charm?"

"Charm? No, I guess not."

"Have you tried flattery?"

"No." What the hell is she up to?

"Licking your upper lip in a seductive manner?"

I laugh. "No."

She shakes her head. "Then how do you expect him to like you if you haven't made a move on him? You have to flatter him. A man cannot resist flattery."

"What's all this? What do you mean a man can't resist flattery?"

"I marvel at your lack of knowledge in this subject, Clare. I mean, you are a woman, aren't you?" Deadpan, she takes out a book from her tote bag and begins what I can only describe as a lecture. "There are many ways to entice a man, but flattery will ensure his affection." She takes a sip of coffee and continues: "Flattery is the most effective technique when seducing a man. Men, like women, want to feel special—it boosts their confidence. Next time you see Eli, look deep into his eyes and whisper into his ear with as much urgency as you can muster and say: You are simply irresistible and I envy the woman who sleeps with you every night." Alli says this in a low, seductive tone.

Adam laughs.

"You _must_ be joking," I say, laughing too.

Alli remains adamant and serious. "Trust me, sweetie, he won't be able to resist."

"You don't have to do it like that," says Fiona. "Just be patient, He'll come around."

"Oh, please Fiona," says Alli. "Women have the right to be aggressive. Men have oppressed women for centuries, we cannot be passive anymore."

"I am woman, hear me roar!" Adam teases.

"Flatter him," she demands, "and you won't regret it. Think of it this way: me want, me take."

"That's bullshit," says Adam. "The 'flattery' technique? What utter crap! Is that a self-help book you have in your hand?"

"Yes," Alli says sheepishly. "But it's a good book. Read it, Clare." She hands me the book, which is called _One Hundred Ways to Seduce a Man._ "Keep it and learn from it."

"Another book with more dating rules in it, I take it. Why can't we be more like dogs? Why can't we just sniff each other's butts, hump each other and get it over with?"

"That's so disgusting," says Alli. "And I don't usually read self-help books."

"Of course you don't, I'm sure it helps get my brother back every time!" Adam retorts. Alli look like she's going to blow a fuse.

"All right, enough," I shout before it gets out of control. These two fight like cats and dogs sometimes.

Fiona is reading her book quietly, no longer interested in our conversation. She's a very wise woman.

"Just promise me you'll follow my advice," says Alli. "I won't leave you alone until you say yes."

"Fine." I say this to shut her up. I don't know if I'm going to follow her stupid advice or read her stupid book. Adam is right. The so-called flattery technique sounds a little too desperate and petty.

On my way home by way of the subway train, I'm having second thoughts about the whole flattery technique thing. Could it work? But even if it could, I don't think I have the guts to do such a thing. I've never been outspoken and confident around a man. I've only had four boyfriends, for God's sake! (Yes, I said four.) There was Owen (the countdown man), Blue (the mirror man), Wesley (the dead lawyer), and KC (the cheating bastard). I shouldn't even call them ex-boyfriends—each relationship lasted about three months. In retrospect, I realize that, except for Wesley, I had no romantic interest in these men. I only went out with them because I'm a young woman, and young women are expected to date. I am not going to follow Alli's advice. I will not flatter Eli. He is not with me. He's with Bianca. And that's that.

The train reaches my stop, and as I step out of it, I hear a voice that says: "Goodnight young lady!" I turn to see who it is, but the subway car closes its doors and disappears into the tunnel.

The next morning I receive a phone call from Dad. Dad seldom calls me, and so I answer the phone after having screened several messages from mom and Eli—both of them wondering where I am. I don't want to hear any more of my mother's sex jokes at my expense and I've had enough of Eli and his gorgeous girlfriend. I've even switched off the cell phone to avoid him completely.

"Whose little girl are you?" Dad greets.

Oh God.

"Whose little girl are you?" he repeats.

I don't answer.

"Whose little girl are you?" he persists.

I sigh and mumble, "I'm Daddy's little girl."

"HA HA HA! YES YOU ARE! You're _Daddy's_ little girl. HA HA HA!"

"Are you drunk?"

"No, I'm not drunk," he says indignantly. "Why would you think such a thing?"

My father is an alcoholic; it started right before the divorce and never stopped. He never admits that he's drunk, even with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. I've tried to get him to stop, but he's in a hopeless state of denial. "There's nothing wrong with recreational drinking," he would say.

My father is well educated and well mannered. He studied law at Bantang University and worked as an intern at a firm in Canada for a year. He is fluent in English, French, Spanish, and Italian, and speaks a little Portuguese as well. He was—and still is—a very creative man when it comes to winning a case. He's not a criminal lawyer, but he could be instead he work for a firm doing small claims court. He never seemed ambitious enough to even want to move up, even though he's brilliant with the law, he just never cared enough. He was too busy sleeping around on mom in all reality to try for more, and the drinking problem didn't help as of late. He still works surprisingly even though he doesn't seem to care, and has an eye-candy girlfriend at least for a little while longer they never last too long, I feel sorry for him.

"How's it going at work?" he asks.

"Fine."

He pauses. "Good. Very good," he slurs. He's obviously been drinking.

He pauses again. "Good, very good," he repeats.

There's a long silence.

"Dad?"

"Yes."

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice. Did you know that out of you and your sister, you're the one I love the most?"

"No, I didn't know that. Why?"

"Because you are strong and determined, you are also very intelligent. You remind me of your mother. She's always been a strong individual. I have faith in you, Clare. I know that you will make it as a journalist. And the reason I know this is simply because I will not let you fail. I will continue to encourage you with such tenacity that you'll have your very own entertainment column in a newspaper or magazine in no time. Darcy's successful I know you can be too, and if you ever feel uncertain about your future, I'll be there to give you the necessary push."

"It's not fair."

"What's not fair?"

"Your high expectations of me."

"Oh, come now, Clare, I don't have high expectations of you; I know your full potential, there's a difference. I want you to be self-sufficient. If there's ever a time in which a man treats you badly, you leave him without a moment's hesitation. And if you ever fall in love, he'd better be a good man, not a man like…like…"

"Like you?" I venture.

I hear a faint intake of breath. And then, with some restraint, he says, "Exactly."

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**To review? or not to review? That is your question! :D**


	10. Fear

**Here you all go some may like this, others may not. Thank you all for your reviews they mean everything to me! Anyways on with the show!**

**Rated M - DAMN THE MAN! SAVE THE EMPIRE!**

**Disclaimer: I own a bunch of gum, seriously I have like a bunch of packs of Orbit all over in case I need it anywhere! I have a gum addiction! Degrassi, not mine, Mutiny Below is Ludos and Fear is Sarah McLachlan! PEACE!**

* * *

**X**

The following morning I decide to go to work. I don't want to avoid Eli and Bianca anymore. Dad's drunken pep talk has somehow caused a transformation within me, a transformation of confidence and inner-poise. He's right: I should be self-sufficient. My father has a way with words. I love him in spite of the way he treated mom. I always look for his guidance, and I love it when he calls me to tell me such nice things.

When I enter the penthouse, I see Eli and Bianca hugging in the dining room. I hide behind a snack shelf in the kitchen and stare. They hug as if they won't be seeing each other for a long time. But they don't look sad. They look happy, content. Again, I notice the lack of heat in their (or rather, his) body language.

"I gotta go," she says.

"Thank you for everything," says Eli.

Bianca grabs her coat and leaves.

Eli strolls into the kitchen and walks up to me with a silly smile on his face. He seems animated. "Hello, Clare," he says. "Feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you." I pause. "Where is Bianca going?"

"She's leaving for Paris. We're not going to be…together…anymore." He says this with a tone of relief.

My knees tremble with joy. "You broke up?"

"We didn't break up."

I look at him with puzzlement. "You won't be dating anymore?"

His body stiffens. "We were not dating!"

?

"We didn't break up because we were not a couple, and we were not dating."

"Okay, I'm confused. If you weren't dating, then what were you doing—other than having sex?"

He shrugs. "That's all we were doing. We were messing around. It's no big deal. We had an arrangement."

Ah, the arrangement. The arrangement I heard Bianca mention a couple of days ago. And I think I've heard him say the words "messing around" before. I ask him to elaborate about this little arrangement.

He hesitates for a moment and then says, "Bianca and I made an amicable agreement." He clears his throat. "We agreed to spend a few days together. Like I said, it's no big deal."

"So you ask for sexual favors with no strings attached. Is that it?"

He looks at me as though I've offended him. "I wouldn't exactly put it that way. Let me stress that this was an amicable agreement. It was her choice to agree upon it. I wouldn't lie to a woman. I am very straightforward and honest."

"Do you do this with a lot of women?"

"Yes. To every woman I've been with."

"How long do these arrangements usually last?"

"About two weeks."

And I'm in love with this philandering fucker?

He continues: "I think I've mentioned my need for space. I can't let anyone get too close. And as I've also mentioned, I have my reasons. And, so, I meet someone, spend a couple of weeks with her, and then we go our separate ways."

* * *

"I want an exclusive with _Entertainment Tonight_," says Fitz, Eli's evil publicist, on his cell phone. "Damn it, I said _ET_. That's right, _ET_."

I'm in a limousine with Eli and Fitz; we're on our way to a private screening of a new film on Fifth Avenue. Fitz insists that Eli should attend more movie premiers. "It's cheap publicity," he says. "Whatever," retorts Eli. I, for one, am excited about attending a premiere, for I have never been to one. I went shopping with Alli this afternoon and bought a sexy red dress made of silk at Barney's. I feel like a femme fatale in it. Eli and I are sitting on either side of the limousine, facing each other. He's looking at me and smiling brightly. He looks so handsome in his black suit and grey tie with little smiley faces on it. I laugh a little at the silliness of his attire.

"Mr. Goldsworthy doesn't want any interviews," Fitz continues, "but he has agreed to an exclusive with _Entertainment Tonight_."

Eli is still looking at me, and instead of looking away in self-consciousness, I look back at him and ask, "What?"

"Nothing," he says flirtatiously, smirking.

"I don't like it when people stare. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Really? Okay, I won't stare. You look very pretty in that dress, by the way very sexy, actually."

I feel my cheeks turning as red as my dress. "Thank you," I stammer.

It's been two days since Bianca, the dancer Eli had a brief liaison with, left for Paris, and I've been thinking a lot about what Elijah said that day. I don't like the fact that he has brief sexual encounters with women. I think he has a problem with intimacy, I mean what else could it be? But what else is there to expect from a gorgeous actor, for God's sake! Still, I cannot love someone who's obviously afraid of relationships. One thing is certain though: I don't think I'll ever tell Eli how I feel about him.

Fitz finally gets off the phone and tells Eli that he has arranged an interview with _Entertainment Tonight_. "I have arranged it for after the movie," he adds.

Eli looks at him with annoyance. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? This is good publicity. You have a new movie coming—"

"It's November, and the movie won't be out until spring," Eli says roughly.

"Yeah, but still, you could use some publicity. You're a little too private, Elijah. And that's a big no-no in this business. Besides, I work in PR—it's what I do."

"I hate interviews," Eli says, "and I hate journalists, with the exception of Clare, of course." He smirks and winks at me.

Fitz glares at me as though I were some sort of intrusive troll. I glare back at him. Fitz doesn't intimidate me anymore. If truth shall be told, I think he has a crush on Eli. I've noticed that he gazes at Eli with an intense and adoring expression. Also, he is sitting a little too close to Eli. Eli doesn't seem to notice. Good.

We arrive at the red carpet. The paparazzi take pictures of Eli as soon as he steps out of the limousine. Fitz and I are standing behind him, like two overprotective bodyguards. I may be his friend behind the spotlight, but tonight I am merely part of his entourage. The glare of the lights is blinding me. The celebrities walk confidently on the red carpet and wave at the paparazzi. I prance around the carpet as though I'm a movie star in my own right. This is very exciting. Never been to a movie premiere before!

This is the best thing that could happen to an aspiring entertainment columnist. This is the kind of exposure I have hoped for since college. I've always been fascinated with the entertainment industry. I have a great deal of knowledge in this field—I've been collecting biographies and articles on celebrities since I was a kid. Let me say right off that it is not the glamorous lifestyle that fascinates me (though it certainly doesn't put me off either), it is the art form itself. I admire entertainers for their dedication to their craft. It amazes me how celebrities willingly sacrifice their private lives in favor of their careers. But then again, judging by the admiration and treatment they receive, I don't think they mind said sacrifice so much.

In the theatre, we watch a movie that critics refer to as a "dark comedy." I see the darkness of the film, but not the comedy. I sit next to Eli. Fitz is probably preparing the interview with _Entertainment Tonight_. Eli and I are finally alone. Well, almost.

The theatre is silent. There's only the sound of the movie.

As we watch the movie, Eli gingerly puts his arm around my shoulders. I glance at him. He smiles earnestly and kisses me on the forehead, which causes me to swoon. God, I wish we were on a real date!

The film is called _Bleeding Love_ and the story is about a happily married man who is seduced by his sexy mother-in-law. The marriage is going well, and the relationship between his wife and her mother seems normal. But for some reason, the mother-in-law seduces the man. She is very persuasive and determined. She walks around the house naked (she lives with the married couple) in front of him when her daughter's not around, calls him at work, speaks seductive words to him, accosts him in the shower—anything to get him into bed. There's a disturbing scene in which she pours menstrual blood into his coffee. Apparently, it'll put him under her spell. After several weeks of intensive seduction, the man finally gives in. He abandons his wife and falls madly in love with his mother-in-law. He even proposes a move to Paris with her. But she doesn't want to move to Paris. "Okay," he says, "we can live here. We can buy a house in the country." She says no. She doesn't want to move in with him. She doesn't want him, period. She tells him this. The man looks perplexed. "What's going on?" the man asks.

To which the mother-in-law replies: "I am not in love with you. It was a ploy. It was all a ploy. I wanted to know if it could be done. I wanted to know if I could seduce my son-in-law."

"And?" the man asks.

She says: "And I was able to seduce you. It was easier than I thought it would be. I am pleased with my achievement: you have fallen in love with me. Well, sonny, I hate to disappoint you, but I cannot reciprocate your affection. I would never do such an abominable thing to my daughter. She knows about all this. In fact, this was all her idea. She wanted to test your fidelity. And you failed. You failed miserably. I'm sorry if I have hurt you. But did you really think I would drop everything and leave with you? Did you really think that?"

His wife and mother-in-law abandon him. His heart is broken. A realization slaps him abruptly in the face: he is alone and unloved. Wallowing in sadness, he shoots himself in the heart, a proclamation of the emotional pain he had endured when his mother-in-law, the woman he'd fallen madly in love with, seduced and then left him.

Ugh, what a depressing story. I may not be a film critic, but I give it two thumbs down. I try to hide my disappointment.

When we get up, I ask Eli if he enjoyed the movie.

"Not really," he says. "Did you?"

I shake my head. "I thought it was too dark."

He asks if I could join him at a cast party at the director's house. He says the party will be held in a brownstone on West 77th and Columbus Avenue—a few blocks away from where I live.

I accept the invitation.

At the party, Fitz immediately mugs Eli. I walk straight to the living room and sit on a leather couch with a glass of Chardonnay in my hands. This is a nice party, very small and intimate. Most of the furniture here is made of marble and leather. There are a few famous guests at the party—including the cast members of the movie. There are several reporters taking pictures and talking to the celebrities. Eli is getting his picture taken with two other actors, one of whom is the star of _Bleeding Love_. I am alone on the couch. Nobody wants to talk to me. I feel like the invisible woman.

"Hi, Clare," says a female voice from behind.

It's Holly J, my work crony. "Hi," I say, smiling.

She sits next to me. "I am so glad you're here," she says. "I'm bored out of my mind."

"So am I."

Holly J looks as breathtakingly beautiful as always. She's wearing a silk shirt, a cardigan and black trousers. Her make-up is flawless and her red hair is pinned into a bun. I feel inadequate next to her.

"Make some chitchat," she demands.

"Um . . . okay. How's work?"

"No, not about work, I know I've said that we should get together once in a while and discuss work, but not tonight. Let's talk of other things."

"Okay."

For several minutes, we talk about the film and the actors in it. We both agree that the movie sucked. We then touch on other topics such as the difference between nineteenth century authors and the ones of this era, but suddenly, her expression changes. She leans forward, looks at me intensely and says, "You're having a hard time finding work as a journalist, right?"

I'm a little confused by the sudden change of subject, but I answer, "Yes."

"Okay." She pauses for a moment. "There's something I have wanted to ask you—"

"What is it?"

"—but I don't know if I should."

"Why not?"

"It's kind of personal."

I blink several times. "Go ahead and ask."

She licks her lips and says, "My question is: why don't you just write an article and have it published? What's holding you?"

I don't answer right away. No one has ever asked me that before. "I'm . . . afraid . . . I guess."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Yes, you do. Tell me."

There is something pushy and controlling in the way she tells me this, and I don't like it. I take a gulp of Chardonnay; wipe my mouth with a napkin and say: "I'm afraid of rejection. And I'm terrified of becoming a failure. My father expects me to succeed at all cost. He says he knows my full potential, but I'm not sure I believe him." I put my face in my hands and let it all sink in. I hadn't confessed this to anyone until now. I feel strange about having made this confession to someone I barely know.

Holly J is silent.

I say, "I have connections. I know someone who writes for the New York Observer. And I know that all I have to do is write an article and have it published. Become a freelancer or something. But I'm terrified of the outcome."

There's an awkward pause.

"Well," Holly J ventures, "I know that most journalists start out as freelancers and make a lot of money that way. It surprises me that you haven't done that." She looks at the saddened expression on my face. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad, I—"

"It's okay," I interrupt. "I'm glad you asked me. In fact, having confessed this to someone has made me feel better. And I thank you."

Holly J smiles uneasily.

As we sit in silence, Declan Coyne, Eli's co-star, waves to Holly J. She rolls her eyes and says, "You'll have to excuse me. His highness needs me."

I nod empathetically.

I resent Holly J for bringing back such unpleasant feelings. I hadn't thought of them for quite a while. I know all about becoming a freelancer, but I've been afraid—or rather, petrified of rejection. I don't have the courage to write an article, the mere thought of it makes me shudder with dread and anxiety. How could something I love overwhelm me so much? There are times in which I hate the thought of becoming a journalist, but then I realize that that's not true, that I simply don't want to lose my father's admiration and respect. He believes in me, and I don't want to disappoint him. I have had days during which I've been disconcerted and depressed because of this. Sometimes I feel like there are two people inhabiting my body, that I have multiple personalities or something. There's Clare: the aspiring journalist. And then there's Clare: the gutless loser, the wimp. But I don't dwell on it anymore. In fact, I haven't had time to think about it lately. I have a new obsession: Eli Goldsworthy. Now, _he's_ the one that throws me into a state of intense turmoil. But if I were honest with myself for a moment I'd realize that I am rather enjoying this new obsession.

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**How about that 2800 words of bull crap! Don't hate me you will LOVE the next few chapters! Trust me! Also is anyone interested in being a beta? Let me know! REVIEW PLEASE!**


	11. What Would Happen?

**Ya so I meant to update yesterday but I fell asleep, so better late then never! I have a strong feeling that you all will enjoy this chapter! Thank you all for the reviews even though the last chapter sucked, this one will make up for it. Anyways I hope you all enjoy!**

**Rated M - The following story contains adult themes of a sexual nature and is intended for mature audiences only, reader discretion is advised. **

**Disclaimer: I can own a few more things now that I have my tax return in the bank, unfortunately not Degrassi, or Mutiny Below by Ludo, or What Would Happen by Meredith Brooks! PEACE!**

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**XI**

I'm on my third glass of Chardonnay. This party is boring. I don't want to be here anymore. I feel unwelcome in this place—celebrities don't associate with regular people, at least not the ones at this party. I wish I could go home. There's nothing remotely interesting here, and I do mean _nothing_. Bored, I glance around the house and notice that Eli is staring at me from across the room. We smile at each other. I point to the empty chair next to my own and mouth, "Sit." He obeys. His arm brushes against mine as he plops down on the couch. He has a tall glass of scotch in his hand and he's chewing on the ice with a sexy grimace that makes my mouth water.

"I don't like crowds," he says.

"Me neither."

"I'm antisocial," he says, laughing a little, "and Hollywood actors can't afford to be antisocial. Are you antisocial, Clare?"

"No, I don't think I am."

He laughs affectionately.

"I take it you don't like this party," I say.

"Nope, it's dull"

"I agree." I take a sip of Chardonnay and look at all of him. "I like your tie."

He beams. "You do? It's my favorite tie. I had it specially made."

"Really?"

"Yes. I like smiley faces they cheer me up. It's like magic. And I do know for a fact that my tie is magic."

"I see," I say, trying not to laugh. His tie is magic? What the hell is he talking about?

"Whenever I feel gloomy," he continues, "I don my magic tie. It transforms me, Clare. It transforms me into a happy person. This tie turns sadness into happiness. It's definitely magic. I've never experienced anything like it."

As he rambles on about his magical tie I ask myself: Will I ever find a normal man? Here I am at a cast party having the most ludicrous conversation with the man I love. I want to burst into laughter, or maybe into tears.

As if reading my mind, he says, "No, I'm not crazy, or drunk." He laughs. "But I am strange."

"I don't think you're strange," I lie.

He leans his head against the couch and looks at me dreamily. "Yes, you do," he says.

We gaze at each other.

He smiles softly and says: "I like you, Clare. I like you because you are sweet and sincere to a fault. Sincerity is a rare commodity these days, which is why I feel I can be myself around you. I really value our friendship."

I'm touched. But I wonder what he meant when he said that I'm sincere to a fault.

"Clare?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to join me for a stroll in the park? I don't want to be here anymore."

I accept without hesitation.

We stroll around Riverside Park for a few minutes. The wind hits our faces as we sit on a bench near the river, just like the night we went to the art gallery. It's very cold tonight and I'm shivering. The air smells of dry leaves. Eli looks straight ahead at the river and is quiet. I stare at the river flowing by and wonder why he likes it here so much. I know he's mentioned something about wanting to be alone, but why does he bring me here? I mean, the view of the river is beautiful, but there's also something somber and mysterious about it. I look at him. His green eyes look vacant and forlorn. Perhaps this is some sort of spiritual escape for him. Or perhaps this place reminds him of something—or someone. He looks as though he's in some other world—he's here, but not in spirit. I don't know if I'm making any sense, I guess my thoughts are rambling a little because of the cold weather.

After about thirty minutes of silence, I say, "I wanna go home."

He doesn't answer.

"I'm freezing."

He remains silent.

I sigh. "I'm going home. It's almost midnight and I'm tired."

"Don't," he finally says. "Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone." He sounds vulnerable when he says this.

"But I'm tired. And it's cold. I have very dry skin, especially around my hands. See?" I show him my hands. "The coldness makes them dry and brittle."

"You should wear gloves," he says absently.

At the risk of annoying him, I hum, "Baby Its Cold Outside."

"Cut it out," he says.

Agitated, I grind my teeth maniacally.

"Stop it," he says, laughing a little. "You're making me nervous."

"Sorry."

I look around the park. This is a dark and deserted area—there is not one soul walking around here and there are no street lamps in sight. We could easily get attacked and killed and no one would be able to rescue us. This thought scares me.

"Doesn't it scare you to come here alone at night?" I ask him.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I know I'm safe here. Besides, I am not alone. I have you." He looks at me and smiles meaningfully. The sweetness in his tone would've captured me if I weren't freezing to death.

I try to look at the stars in the sky, but the bitterly cold weather does not allow me to concentrate. My suede jacket is not warm enough for this kind of weather. What shall I do? Out of desperation, I rest my body against Eli's. I want the warmth of his body to protect me against the cold. He puts his arm around my shoulders, which makes the situation seem less awkward. I feel safe and warm in his arms. I bury my face in his neck and close my eyes. His masculine scent is captivating. I could easily drown in the smell of his skin. Suddenly, as if driven by an involuntary force, I kiss his neck. Then I kiss it again, and again. I kiss it several more times. I am unable to stop. I _don't_ want to stop.

Eli is silent.

I slowly unbutton his jacket while I kiss his neck. I slide my hand under his shirt and caress his chest. I stroke the back of his neck with my other hand.

He's still looking straight ahead at the river.

I softly kiss his ear and caress his torso. As an automaton, my hand makes way to his trousers and proceeds to caress his crotch. I am both appalled and delighted to find that he's got an erection. I am momentarily frozen with wonder. _I've given Elijah Goldsworthy an erection!_

His breathing is shallow now. "You smell amazing," he murmurs. Finally, he puts his hands on either side of my face and kisses me so hard I gasp with sheer pleasure. His kiss is passionate and strange at the same time—his hunger is almost uncontainable. Amid the kisses, I marvel at my tour de force: I have seduced Elijah Goldsworthy. We continue to kiss as he tries to undress me with one hand.

My breasts roll free when he removes my bodice. He traces one nipple with his cold fingers as he kisses his way to my breasts. A tantalizing shiver runs down my spine as Eli takes one nipple into his mouth. He bites the nipple, which causes me to wince at first. Then I toss my head back, enjoying the sharp yet gentle sensation of his bites.

What am I doing? I can't do this. I know there's a very good reason I shouldn't be doing this; I forget what it is. There's something unsettling about all of this, besides the fact that we're in public even though it's dark, that's not all though. He only has sexual relationships—he's said so himself. I pull away.

"I should be going," I say abruptly.

"But—"

"I'm leaving." I put my bodice back on and walk away.

"Wait! Let me walk you home." I look back at him. His eyes look disappointed.

When we arrive at my building, he tries to kiss me on the lips, but I keep him away with both hands.

We look at each other in silence. He looks sad and lost, like a child starving for affection. I take a deep breath and walk slowly toward the door.

"Clare! Wait!" he shouts.

I turn to him and say, "What?"

He doesn't respond.

I throw out my hands and repeat, "What?"

Still he says nothing. He simply looks at me expectantly.

"I don't know what to say," I tell him, "except that I can't sleep with you. I can't allow it to happen. I'm sorry for what happened in the park. I shouldn't have tried to seduce you."

I really shouldn't have, but I wasn't aware of what I was doing. I couldn't help myself; my face was in his delicious neck. I am indignant with myself for having been so aggressive. And the way I started touching and kissing him! My God! Does the word finesse mean anything to you, Clare? You practically raped the man for heaven's sake! How could you be so desperate and weak? He will never look at you the same way again. He's probably lost all respect for you. Goodbye job! Serves you right for having done what you did.

I deserve the reproaches I'm inflicting on myself. I wish I could slap myself several times. I wish I could disappear. I wish I could ignore my loins, which are burning for him.

Eli is still looking at me persistently.

"Go home, Eli," I say. "And again, I'm sorry."

But he doesn't move. He just keeps staring at me.

"Do you want me to hail a cab for you?" I ask.

He doesn't answer.

"Say something!"

"Is it okay if I spend the night with you?"

He looks like a little boy—a spoiled, rich and famous little boy. I'm annoyed by his stubbornness. "Look," I say, "I'm cold and tired and all I want to do right now is take a nice deep bath. I'm not going to ask you in. So give it up."

"I want you, Clare, and I know that you want me. Now stop playing games and invite me in."

Un-fucking-believable! He thinks I'm playing hard to get, I'm not playing games, and I'm dead serious. But I'll show him. I'll show him that he can't mess with me.

"I am not going to sleep with you, Eli."

"Can't I at least persuade you?" he smirks slightly.

"No. Don't waste your time. It'll never happen, ever."

He sighs. "Okay, I'll leave," he says, crestfallen. "Goodnight, Clare."

"'Night."

After a sullen gaze, he starts walking away. If he thinks that I'm falling into that old trick—pretending to leave so I'd change my mind—he is sadly mistaken.

Only he doesn't seem to be wavering. He really is leaving. He's even hailed a cab!

Well, well, well! He wasn't interested in sleeping with me after all. I should have known it was all bullshit. I mean, shouldn't he have tried some more—even if I had no intention of taking him up on his offer? Disappointed, I open the door and look back at him.

A taxicab stops in the curb. He's about to step in it . . .

"Eli?"

He turns to me. "Yes?"

I suck in my breath before answering. "Get over here before I change my mind."

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**OOH LA LA! Reviews?**


	12. There's A Fine, Fine Line

**Wow, I'm almost at 100 reviews, thank you all sooo much your reviews really make my day! Well yeah that last chapter was crazy huh? Now lets see what happens! Enjoy!**

**Rated M - Yeah there's a lemon or my version of one which is probably not very good! Anywho you have been warned!**

**Disclaimer - I own none of it, not Degrassi, not Mutiny Below by Ludo (which is even funnier because they got their name from the movie Labrynth which is what I'm making my kids (my son, neice and 2 nephews) watch right now! Best movie EVER!) So ya don't own that or There's a Fine, Fine Line by the creators of Avenue Q. PEACE!**

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**XII**

I awake early the next day to the sound of Eli singing in the shower. He's singing Billy Joel's "You May Be Right." He sings off-key, but I rather enjoy the sound of his voice coming from my bathroom. I feel exhilarated. Overjoyed, it's amazing what sex can do to you. I wrap myself in the duvet, which smells of him. I am so happy it's indescribable.

Last night was incredible. As soon as we entered the apartment, we clawed at each other until we landed on the futon. I surrendered to his soft kisses and indulgent touch. He was so gentle. A man has never been that gentle to me before. And when he was inside of me! The second he entered me we sort of gasped with pleasure at the same time. His hips rocked back and forth as his big, beautiful cock buried deep into me. His thrusts were passionate and exquisite—nice and slow. He pulled halfway out; lingered there as he showered me with kisses, and then reentered me with urgency so delectable I had to stop myself from coming. "Clare," he barely whispered in my ear. "Oh, Clare."

I, on the other hand, was not quite so gentle. I devoured him like a starving child at a buffet table, whereas he treated me like something that ought to be handled with utmost delicacy. His thrusts became unpredictable as he quickened his pace—they went from shallow to deep. His new speed turned me into a caged animal that had finally escaped to freedom. I pushed him off me and straddled his hips as I positioned myself on top of him. It was with his magical tie that I tied him up—his hands bound together on the headboard. And that was how I rode him. He didn't protest as he watched me become all the more aggressive. As I moved up and down on him, feeling the tickle of Eli's kisses on my ample breasts, the frustration I'd had for weeks had finally unraveled. I was so caught up in the moment that I came almost without noticing.

Before I could collect myself, Eli positioned me in all fours. He made love to me for the second time, his moves varying from tender and considerate to brazen and grave. He spoke soothing words to me and kissed the back of my neck and caressed my breasts. He asked if I was okay. I said yes. I almost felt ashamed of the way I'd ridden him a few minutes ago.

I came four times last night.

After sex—or should I say lovemaking—we watched TV for a while, and made jokes. Conveniently I had gone grocery shopping the day before so, I made us bacon sandwiches and washed them down with cold soda as we watched Nick at Nite reruns. I told him that he could spend the night here if he wanted to. And he did.

We slept together—literally. Actually, he slept. I watched him curled around me as he breathed warm air against my neck. It was nice. I dreaded the thought of him leaving. I felt like tying him up on my bed again. He's mine, I thought. He's my property.

I come to when I hear Eli getting dressed in the bathroom. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I don't want to make things awkward for us. The morning after is always awkward, and I try to reduce the awkwardness by pretending to sleep. I can hear him putting on his pants, his shirt, his shoes and his jacket. He walks up to me and kisses me softly on the lips.

"Clare?" he whispers as he shakes me lightly. "Last night was wonderful, Clare," he murmurs into my ear. "See you later, okay?"

I do nothing. I just pretend to sleep.

I finally hear him leave.

I must have fallen asleep right after he left because I awake two hours later to the sound of the alarm clock. It's nine a.m. I can't believe he's gone. I shouldn't have closed my eyes. I shouldn't have pretended to sleep. Now I wish I had made him coffee or something. Actually, to be honest, I am glad I had made things less uncomfortable for us. It was for the best.

But what if—oh horror of horrors—he regrets having slept with me? What if he wants no part of me? What if I walk into the office and he ignores me or treats me with cold indifference? Oh, God, I can't believe what I've done. He's going to ignore me—I just know it! In fact, I'm sure he'll act as though nothing's happened between us, that I am simply his assistant, which, unfortunately, is true. I'm just one of twenty, how many of his assistances has he slept with? Oh god, I wish I hadn't slept with him. I am a weak woman. I am a weak, meek and pathetically horny woman who can't control her animal urges.

Shit! I have to go to work in an hour. God only knows what Eli's going to say once I'm there. He'll probably gaze blankly at me and say, "Hiya, Clare! Great sex last night! Could you make me a cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese for me? And why don't you call Mila Kunis for me and tell her that I'm up for a bit of fun tonight. You know, the sort of fun you and I had last night!" The thought of it makes me cringe. But I have to face the music, I mean, he is my boss, and I can't miss work today. I'm going to work. I have no other choice.

Eli is talking on his cell phone in the main room. I walk straight to the office and sit on the leather couch. I feel tensed and nauseated. Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead.

"Good morning, Clare," says Eli, entering the office. My heart leaps at the sound of his voice.

"Good morning," I say in a monotone as I get up to make coffee, feigning casualness.

He walks up to me and kisses me on the cheek. He seems animated and has a blissful expression on his face. "You're looking particularly fetching today," he says, eyeing my sensible floral dress and strappy sandals.

"Want some coffee?" I ask, ignoring his flirtatious tone.

"Sure."

As I pour coffee into two mugs, he puts his arms around my waist and presses his lips to the crown of my head. His breathing is steady and warm. I feel as though a sharp needle is slowly piercing through my skin. I close my eyes for a moment. As we embrace, I think of what Eli told me on the day Bianca—the woman he had a brief liaison with just days before he slept with me—left for Paris. He told me about the arrangements he makes with women. Is that what this is? And if that's what it is, why hasn't he told me? The whole dynamic between us is wrong—I sense that something strange is going on here, but I can't put my finger on it.

"I had a wonderful time last night," he murmurs. "You were insatiable, can't wait to do it again."

Abruptly, I pull away. "Leave me alone."

He looks at me with surprise. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He scratches his head and looks at me expectantly. "Clare," he nags, "what the hell's going on?"

"Oh, come on, Eli. Do you think I don't know what you're up to?"

He gives me a funny look.

I look at him impatiently and huff, "Well?"

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about," he says, sounding sincere. "Enlighten me, why don't you. Go on," he urges, deadpan. "Tell me what I'm up to."

"You know what I'm talking about. You're not that stupid."

"Well, I guess I am stupid because I've no clue what you're talking about."

I stare at the ceiling for a moment, take a deep breath and say: "Am I one of your little fuck buddies now, one of your little 'arrangements'?" I make the quotation marks with my fingers.

His eyes open wide. "Sorry?"

"You heard me."

"What do you mean?"

I suck on the inside of my cheeks, which makes a loud kissing sound. "A few days ago," I begin, "you told me you make sexual arrangements with women. You said that you screw them for a few days and then leave them, and you also said that the arrangements are always amicable. Well, well, well, Eli. I guess you forgot to let me in on our little arrangement."

A startled look flickers across his face. "That's not what this is," he says ruefully.

My heart skips a beat. Is it possible that he wants to be with me? That he wants me to be his girlfriend? That he's fallen in love with me? "Well . . .," I stammer adrenaline swifts through my body in the form of nausea. "Are you saying that this is for real?" My voice cracks a little when I ask this. I can't help but smile. This is for real; he wants me to be his girlfriend! To think I almost ruined things!

He clears his throat in nervousness.

I wait for an answer.

But he says nothing.

My heart plummets faster than running water in a faucet. This isn't real. He doesn't want me to be his girlfriend. He hasn't fallen in love with me.

I laugh sarcastically and look straight ahead at the door. "Well," I say, with feigned indifference, "I guess it's not real. But that's okay. I sort of expected this reaction from you. I'm not surprised." I fight back tears. I don't want to cry in front of him. "One thing is certain though, I will never sleep with a sleazebag like you again."

I grab my handbag and stride toward the door, but he grabs me tightly by my arm and looks at me with forlorn eyes. I cover my face with one hand—I have begun to cry and I don't want him to look at me.

"Clare, I—"

"Let go of me!" I shout.

"Clare," he whispers to me, a mixture of earnestness and sadness in his tone.

"I said let go!" I try to free myself, but his grip is too strong.

"Clare, Clare!" he says.

He sure loves to utter my name. I hadn't noticed that until now.

"I don't want to hurt you—"

"Let go!"

"—and I don't want you to cry over me. I'm a horrible person, Clare. I really am."

I glance at him. His green eyes have lost their light. "You're not a horrible person, Eli," I tell him.

"Yes, I am. I'm horrible, and selfish. I'm a selfish bastard."

He's still holding me tightly by the arm. I can feel the bruises forming on my elbow.

"But," he continues, "I want you, Clare. And I know that you want me too. I don't see the point in hiding the fact that we want each other." I feel his minty-fresh breath against my cheek. "Don't you think so, Clare? Isn't it pointless to resist?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because last night was amazing. I'm sure you'll agree with me when I say that last night wasn't just about sex—it was far more meaningful than that. We needed each other. Why can't you admit that you're in need of someone to hold? You see, Clare, I, too am in need of someone to hold. I want our loneliness to disappear from our being, for there are few things in life I hate more than loneliness. We could keep each other company for a little while—"

"Ah-ha!" I exclaim. "The arrangement!"

"No! That's not what I—"

I finally manage to pull away. I walk toward the door, but then I look back at him and say, "You have a serious problem, Eli. I think you should get your head examined. Or maybe you don't need a shrink. It's painfully obvious that you have problems with commitment."

"That's not what it is," he whispers sadly.

"Well, then what is it?"

"I can't tell you." He looks down at the floor humbly, as if wishing he could disappear.

I feel sorry for him. I have no idea what his problem is, but that doesn't mean I should humor him and agree to his appalling arrangement. "I'll work from home today. Call me if you need anything." I grab my jacket and exit the penthouse.

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**I know don't kill me! This is almost getting up to my stopped point in chapter 14, I have ideas it's just about getting them not to mush together and getting them written, but it's going to be somewhat enjoyable until then! Review?**


	13. Carjack My Heart

**Hello all! I would first like to say that you guys ROCK! Thank you all sooo much for the support of this story! There's one more chapter after this that is completed, after that I'm working on it but it's getting difficult for me for some reason! I've hit a block, but still you guys are awesome! This isn't very long but it's just how it worked out, next chapter will be longer!**

**Rated M - You have been warned, reader discretion is advised.**

**Disclaimer - I own nothing, not Degrassi, not Mutiny Below by Ludo and not Carjack My Heart by Dance Movie!**

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**XIII**

The next day I do nothing but watch TV and read glossy magazines. I have thought about quitting my job, but I don't know if I should do it. The job pays well and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like having Eli around. I'm so confused. I don't know what to do.

As I skim through the pages of Cosmopolitan magazine—Jeans: Find the Perfect Fit for Your Body Type! Top One Hundred Sex Positions! Is He Cheating on You? Take Our Quiz and Find Out!—I hear a knock on my door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me"—Eli Goldsworthy—"open the door, Clare."

Before I could stop myself, I open the door without hesitation.

"Hey!" he says jovially as he enters my apartment.

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugs and smiles. "I wanted to see you. And I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday. I didn't mean to scare you but I've warned you about my persuasiveness."

He looks so beautiful. I can't help but be flustered by his beauty every time I see him. "Um . . . Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah, sure."

I go to the kitchen to get a drink. When I come back out with a bottle of beer, Eli is perusing my books on the shelf. He has a book in his hand.

"_Writing and Reporting News: A Coaching Method,_" he reads. "Was it helpful?"

"That's a college textbook," I say brazenly, "they're never helpful. Here's your drink."

He takes a gulp of beer as he continues to peruse my books. He grabs another one and reads the title out loud. "_One Hundred Ways to Seduce a Man._" He laughs. "Interesting!"

Ah, the book Alli gave me. Or rather, the book Alli _forced_ me to keep. I've only read a few pages. It is your typical self-help book about finding men. The book says that women should have the power in a relationship and that seduction is the key that opens a man's heart. There are various seduction techniques, one of which is flattery. Actually, flattery is the number one seduction technique in the book. According to a relationship expert, a man cannot resist flattery. Men, like women, want to feel desired. (Ha! I knew Alli had been reciting passages from the book on the day we got together at that café.) The book promises that if I follow the flattery technique, the other techniques fall right into place. I find it grotesque. I don't think women should follow such stupid rules. Why play such petty games? Why can't we just be ourselves? Why do women feel inadequate without men? Why do women need men to validate their existence? And why are men encouraged to be single? Why the double standard? Mental note: never listen to Alli again.

"Put the book back on the shelf," I demand.

"Okay, mommy," he mocks.

"Why are you here?" I ask, agitated.

"Oh, please, Clare, don't make me repeat myself. I came here because I wanted to see you. I also wanted to apologize for my behavior. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Apology accepted. Now please leave."

He walks up to me and kisses me hard on the lips. The touch of his delicious mouth on mine momentarily paralyzes me with desire. His tongue caresses mine, and I soon feel my conviction dwindle.

What am I doing? I can't fall for his charms again. I push him away.

He gives me an indignant look. "Why are you playing games?"

I shoot him a look of disdain. "I'm not the one playing games here, Eli. Why don't you spend the night with one of your ex-girlfriends, or former fuck-buddies, or whatever the hell you call them."

"No. I want you."

"You already had me."

"I want you again."

"For how long Eli? Tonight? 2 weeks? Until you get tired of me or find someone else to fill whatever void it is you're trying to fill?"

"It's not like that Clare I already told you that. I want you, I need you Clare. You need me too, why are you fighting this?"

"Because it will never work" I tell him, looking down at my wood floor. "Sorry."

He frowns. "Okay. But I want you at my apartment first thing tomorrow morning. There are plenty of things for you to do. You're my assistant, after all."

"Fine." I open a window as far as it could go. A cold breeze enters the studio. The city is breathtakingly beautiful at night. I sit in a chair next to the window and gaze at the city lights. Eli is silent, probably waiting for me to give in. I am not going to sleep with him again. I AM NOT!

As if sensing my thoughts, he says, "Oh, how disappointing. I had something special planned for us tonight."

I continue to gaze at the city lights, ignoring him.

"All right," he says angrily. "I'm going home, happy now? You've blown it, Clare. You've no idea what I had in store for you tonight. I mean, if you thought last night was great . . ."

He waits a few seconds, hoping he's piqued my interest. When I fail to respond, he shouts "Fine! Goodbye, Clare!" and storms out of the apartment.

I look out the window and watch as he raises his arm at the oncoming traffic and a yellow taxicab dashes to the curb. Eli climbs in and is driven away. I laugh in contentment at my tour de force: I have resisted Eli Goldsworthy. I have managed to contain myself.

I have won.

Later that night I receive a phone call from Adam. As if I don't have enough stress already.

"Hi, Clare-Bear!" he says enthusiastically. "How are you?"

"Never better, Torres," I say dully. He doesn't seem to notice the miserable tone in my voice.

"Good. I just wanted to make sure that you were still alive—you haven't called me since we last got together, hon. Alli, Fiona, Drew and I are gonna catch a flick tonight. Wanna join us?"

"No, Adam. Not in the mood." To play the fifth wheel.

"Uh-oh. What's the matter? Having trouble with Mr. Famous again?"

"No," I answer sullenly.

Adam sighs. "Clare, why don't you just fuck his brains out and get it over with? He won't turn you down. No red-blooded American—albeit straight—man turns down a free lay from a beautiful girl. Besides, you're in need of a good lay, aren't ya?"

Oh dear.

"When was the last time you got some anyway?" I can hear a smile in his voice.

I lie and tell him that I haven't had sex in six months.

He replies by saying: "You poor thing!"

I couldn't bring myself to tell Adam about Eli because I know I'd never hear the end of it. He'd tell me it was my own insecurities that are getting in the way and that is not what I wanted to hear. I'm not going to be just another girl Eli has in and out of his bed for awhile, that night was a mistake. It was a wonderful mistake, but still a mistake. I love Eli and I want him all, I thought it could be possible for a moment but I know it can't. I can't let him win, I have to be strong. I am so screwed.

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**Ya so it's not very long don't kill me! Review please!**


	14. Nobody Wants To Be Lonely

**Throwing this up here before I run off to work! Haven't had much time to work on more but I thank you all for your reviews they are awesome! This chapter is pretty long but I hope you all enjoy!**

**Rated M - Because I can**

**Disclaimer - Don't own ANYTHING!**

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**XIV**

I feel great! Want to know why I feel so great? Well, I have turned Eli down for a third time. Yes, you've heard me. I've turned him down again. I went to work this morning feeling strong and determined. He tried to seduce me several times, to no avail. I was as cool as a cucumber. In fact, I even scared him a little by threatening to sue him. "What you're doing to me has a name," I said dramatically. "It's called Sexual Harassment."

He was silent for a moment. Then he looked at me apprehensively and said, "Your petty attempt at scaring me is beneath you, Clare," and left the office. He didn't bother me for the rest of the day. I feel quite proud of myself. I have managed to resist him again. I am invincible! I have won! I am happy, happy, happy! This is the most gratifying experience I've ever had in my life!

Who am I kidding? I feel as though my loins are about to explode. I even yelled at a guy on the street for no good reason. I am not invincible. I am a meek, sexually frustrated freak! I'm a disgrace to womankind! I can't forgive myself for being such a pathetic loser.

I'm on my way home via the subway train. I've had a rough day. I don't know what to make of Eli's stubborn behavior. Could it be that I'm a challenge for him? I think that's what it is. But then again, I could be wrong. There's something very unsettling about his tenaciousness. He has a secret, I know that much. I remember the strange way he held Bianca. And I remember his reluctance to open up to me yesterday. What's wrong with him? Why did he look so sad and lost when I left his house the other day? Why is he so secretive—so elusive and enigmatic? Suddenly, I have an epiphany: I am in love with a stranger. I know nothing about Eli Goldsworthy. I can't believe I hadn't thought of that before! I'm ashamed to say that the only thing I know about him is that he's a great fuck. This illustrates the absurdity of our relationship—if you can call it a relationship.

The train is packed today. It's 6 p.m. and everyone is going home from work. There are pictures of the cast of _'Minglers'_ all over the subway car. There are various poses of the cast members—including Eli Goldsworthy, flashing his sexy smirk. I stare at the pictures.

"Good evening my lady!" I hear someone say.

To my horror, the old Hispanic man, the one I always run into on the train, is sitting across from me. He's looking at me and smiling, just like the other times. Furious, I glare at him and say, "Why are you following me?"

"I'm not following you," he says, perplexed.

"Yes, you are. I keep running into you on trains. It can't be a coincidence. Who the hell are you and why are you following me?"

He smiles and switches seats. He sits next to me. He's wearing a gray raincoat and black trousers. His face is very wrinkled. The lines around his eyes are very prominent. Flustered, I glance at the other passengers. They're reading newspapers or staring into space—avoiding eye contact with the other passengers.

"You shouldn't talk to your elders that way, honey," he says, frowning. "A nice young lady like you shouldn't behave that way." He coughs lightly and runs his hand over his gray hair. He's looking straight ahead at the subway car. "I'm sitting here waiting for this day to be over. Old age is a burden."

I don't respond. This guy could be a psychotic stalker and I don't want to upset him.

He looks at me and says, "I take it you don't know what I'm talking about, you young thing you. Bear with me for a little while longer, okay?"

I glance around the car in nervousness. "You haven't answered my question."

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. "Yes, I did," he says softly. "I already answered your question, sweetheart. I am not following you. Has it occurred to you that perhaps I'd think that you're the one following me?" He lets a chuckle that's almost inaudible. "Is it okay if we talk for a little while? I don't talk with people much nowadays. I'd like to tell you my life story. I hope you don't mind." He pauses theatrically. "I was a family man. I had always dreamed of having a family. And then I had one. I had a beautiful wife named Sophia. Sophia and I were married for four wonderful years. We wanted to have children, but we decided to wait a few more years. We wanted to enjoy our lives together first. My life couldn't be better."

"Why are you using the past tense?"

He ignores me and continues: "They say that happiness doesn't last forever, which is true. Mine didn't last. My wife died in a car accident." He shakes his head dispiritedly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I mean, it ain't your fault. Anyway, my life was never the same. A state of intense pain and sorrow befell me. There were times in which I couldn't breathe. I was suffocating. I couldn't live without my Sophia. 'Why live?' I thought. And that's when I did it."

"Did what?"

He sighs precariously and says, "I should probably say almost did it. At exactly two a.m. on a deserted subway platform—with a bottle of whiskey in my hand—I decided to jump toward an oncoming train. It would be quick and painless, for I wanted to get it over with. I wanted to be with Sophia and make the pain go way."

A chill runs down my spine. "What . . . what stopped you from doing it?" I whisper, not wanting the other passengers to hear me.

He chuckles forlornly. "Until this day, I have no idea what stopped me. Perhaps Sophia stopped me, or maybe I didn't really want to die. But the grief has carried me throughout the years." He laughs at my saddened expression. "I'm a lonely man. I always thought that you youngsters hadn't the faintest notion what it's like to feel pain. Real pain, profound pain, but when I look at you, I realize that ain't true. For you are lonely too, ain't ya?"

I put my face in my hands for a moment. I have felt lonely. I've never allowed anyone to get close for fear of getting hurt. Hadn't Eli said something similar the other day? Something about being lonely and us needing each other? He had been right about that. And to have a complete stranger on a train point this out to me is not only bewildering, it's downright creepy.

"Don't worry about it, deary," he says, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "I thought I'd bring some light into you. You've been in denial. Denial doesn't change reality, deary. No, mam."

I look at him. I feel lightheaded when I look at him. "But . . . how do you know?"

"I've been lonely for far too long to not recognize it when I see it."

"How's it like?"

"How's what like?"

"A lifetime of loneliness."

He thinks for a second. "Lonely." He laughs. "This side of the world—old age, I mean—is even lonelier. Can't say I wasn't in the prowl a few years after Sophia died. I had my fair share of ladies during my youth. But none of those women were my Sophia. Female attention didn't make my loneliness disappear. On the contrary, it was more tangible. Let me tell you. . .What's your name?"

"Clare."

"Let me tell you, Clare. I regret not having killed myself. I regret it every single day. She was probably waiting for me with a smile on her face."

"Your wife?"

"Yes. And I chickened out, can't believe it. People who say that suicide is a cowardice act have no fucking idea what they're talking about. Not going through with it—that's being a coward!"

I am silent as I digest his words. His bitterness is palpable.

I look at him uneasily. "Look," I venture, "What do you want from me?"

"I want nothing from you," he answers earnestly. "I only want to see you come in and out of the train once in a while. I want us to have that kind of separate togetherness. I feel less lonely—"

"I don't think I can help you feel better."

"I feel less lonely when you're around. Please, Clare, allow me to see you on the train. We can make some chit chat. Talk about the weather or something. I am not asking for too much."

I take a deep breath, shrug and say, "Well, I guess there's no harm in that."

The train finally reaches my stop, but before I step out of it, I look at the man and say, "I don't know your name."

"You don't? Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Jose Gonzalez."

I smile. "See you around, Mr. Gonzalez."

Eli is standing at the entrance of my building. He is smoking a cigarette (I had no idea he smoked) and his head is hanging low—avoiding the gaze of people entering and leaving the building. He's wearing black skinny jeans, a black dress shirt and his favorite tie with the smiling faces.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Waiting for you."

"I could have you arrested for this, you know."

"Arrested? For what? You accused me of sexually harassing you earlier, what have I allegedly done now?" He climbs the stairs after me. "I'm not doing anything wrong. Besides, I know you're enjoying all of this."

"What are you talking about?" I ask while unlocking the door to my apartment. Eli forces his way in. "I am not enjoying this. This is a nightmare. I want you to get out of my apartment before I—"

"Before you what?" he asks, challenging me, annoying the shit out of me.

"Before I . . . call the police."

"Go ahead and call them."

I sigh in exasperation. "Really, Eli? Aren't you afraid of a public scandal?"

"Nope," he replies cynically.

"Huh." I try to think of a good retort. "You're really not afraid? I mean, I could sell this information to—oh, gee, I don't know—a tabloid newspaper? I can just see the headlines now—'Heartthrob TV Star Stalks His Personal Assistant.' They'd have a field day with this!"

He's silent for a moment. Then he smirks and says, "Go ahead and talk to the press. I'll put myself at your disposal. I could use some cheap publicity. Fitz would be pleased."

He's pissing me off and loving it. I don't know what else to say to him. Desperate, I try another tactic: begging. "Please, go away," I squeal. "I can't be with you, Eli. Why can't you understand that? I've had a lousy day. You've no idea what just happened to me on the subway. Some old guy told me all these creepy things and. . .Look, just go away! You're a stranger to me. I hardly even know you, for God's sake. I mean, I didn't even know you smoked cigarettes and—"

"I only smoke when I'm nervous."

I feel the veins around my neck throbbing uncontrollably. I point to the door, but he doesn't move. "You stubborn asshole."

He looks hurt. "Clare, why can't you admit that you want me? Why can't you admit that you're enjoying all of this? You love to play games—it's your modus operandi." He cups my cheek in his palm and runs his thumb over my bottom lip. I close my eyes. "You said you'd sue me for sexual harassment, but I am not sexually harassing you. You see, Clare, I know that you're afraid to get close to me, and I don't blame you. I know I haven't been very open and honest with you. But that's beside the point. What's important is that we want each other. It's a mutual thing. We need each other, Clare."

I hate to admit that he's right. I want him, and perhaps I have enjoyed his persuasiveness. I am appalled at myself for acknowledging this. What would feminists think of me? I never thought I'd sink this low over a man. I push him away.

"What, more games?" he muses.

"I want you to leave me alone."

He tries to grab me again, but I tug away. "Didn't you hear what I said? Can't you just leave me alone?"

"No."

Rage swifts through me like mounting lava.

"Clare," he says urgently. "I think that you're simply irresistible and I'd be damned if I don't spend the night with you."

HA! Ha, ha, ha, ha . . . HA! The flattery technique! I can't believe it! He is trying to flatter me! Has he read the book, or is there a _One Hundred Ways to Seduce a Woman_?

He flings himself around my neck and holds me in a passionate and desperate sort of way. He kisses my neck several times. This feels nice. I tentatively run my hands over his shoulders and chest. I can't help it—he excites me. And it appears that I excite him too. Through the rough fabric of his jeans, I feel his full erection poking my hip. "On the night of the film screening," he murmurs into my ear, "you blew me away with that red dress. You should wear red more often."

I clench my muscles in despair as we continue to kiss. His shallow hot breath warms my insides.

"You were bewitching."

Bewitching? Good one, Eli.

Again, I find myself getting antsy. A helix of hopelessness is twisting through my body. He has found my weak spot: him. As far as he's concerned, he could take advantage of me whenever he wants. Well, I can't allow that to happen. I have to be strong and determined, like Joan of Arc . . . or someone. Yes, Joan of Arc! I have to be like her. I push him away again.

He rolls his eyes. "I am tired of playing games with you!" he says fretfully. "If you honestly don't want me around, fine, I respect your decision. But out of stubbornness, I can't allow myself to be defeated. You have ten seconds, and if you don't change your mind during that time, I promise I'll never bother you again. Our relationship will be strictly professional from then on. Games are fun, but they get old after a while. Ten . . ."

I don't move.

"Nine . . ."

Joan of Arc.

"Eight . . ."

Joan of Arc, Joan of Arc.

"Seven . . ."

I'm experiencing a déjà vu.

"Six . . . "

Ah, I remember. This reminds me of Owen, an ex-boyfriend of mine who shouted a countdown every time he came.

"Five . . ."

Weird.

"Four . . ."

Joan of Arc.

"Three . . ."

Joan of—what's her name?

"Two . . ."

Joan of . . . Arc.

"One." He looks at me expectantly.

I do nothing. I am Joan of Arc.

He sighs in disillusionment and says, "Okay. Like I said, I respect your decision. Goodnight, Clare." He walks with jerky steps toward the door. God, I love him.

Screw Joan of Arc. "Eli! Wait!" I walk up to him, grab him by his belt buckle and pull him toward the futon. He's smiling broadly.

"Haven't you noticed something?" he says.

"What?"

"I'm wearing my magic tie. We're together because of it. I knew the tie would help. I knew it!"

"Shut up and fuck me," I say, pushing him onto the bed.

Yes, Eli. You have won.

* * *

**Clare is really vulgar! Send me some love!**


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